Debeste of Friends
by CzarThwomp
Summary: Manfred von Karma, Damon Gant, and Blaise Debeste- these three men rose to the top of their respective professions through manipulation and murder. So it only makes sense that these megalomaniacs would be friends in some way, shape, or form. So how do they express this friendship? That question and more will be answered in this series of non-chronological one-shots.
1. Deworste Movie Night

**Disclaimer: All material used in this fanfiction belongs to its respective owner(s) and I am not associated with them in any way, shape, or form. I, the writer of this fanfic, claim none of it as my own in this non-profit fanfic.**

 **A/N:** For those of you who have read this story's predecessor, _The von Karma Family Beach Trip_ , you'll know that in my headcanon, Manfred von Karma, Damon Gant, and Blaise Debeste are childhood friends since they are the same age, have similar views on manipulating the law as a means to an end, and would all serve to benefit from being friends.

If you're wondering how Manfred could be childhood friends with Gant and Blaise, even though he's a German citizen, I'll be covering that point in a later chapter. But for now, all you need to know is that when he was a child, Manfred and his parents immigrated to the U.S. However, when Manfred was 18, one thing led to another and his parents abandoned him, prompting him- now a legal adult- to move back to the country of his birth to learn the family's ways of prosecuting from his uncle.

With all that said, I hope you guys enjoy the first chapter of this new fanfic!

* * *

After a long week of work, everyone likes to enjoy a nice Friday night out- having fun with friends and unwinding as they anticipate the weekend ahead. Even the most corrupt of people need some time to relax.

This was why Blaise Debeste and Damon Gant were sitting in Manfred von Karma's Victorian-style living room on a posh, yet ornate couch that was more wood than cushion in front of a large television with different moods about them. The former, with his arms crossed, was impatiently tapping his foot on the ground and muttering death threats under his breath while the latter sat patiently with his hands folded, grinning as he soaked in the room- specifically at a colorful tapestry depicting a shield-shaped image of a man cladded in golden armor standing triumphantly on top of a pile three defeated and battered people, one a grown man, one a grown woman, and one a small child, beneath a large 'K' in the center.

"Dammit! Where the hell's von Karma!?" Blaise snarled, a large pillar of flame erupting from his lighter. "How long does it take for someone to make popcorn?"

"C'mon Blaisie, relax!" Gant stated with a grin as he pat the Chief Prosecutor's shoulder. "Where's the fun in having a movie night if you're gonna stress out over strict scheduling? So what's the harm in waiting a bit?"

"Y'know I'm not a patient man, Gant! Especially when I want to enjoy an evening away from my idiot son- which I can't do if I can't watch a movie with a damn bowl of popcorn! VON KARMA! CORN!" Blaise bellowed at the top of his lungs, kicking the back of his foot against the couch.

"Keep your unfashionable eyesore of a jacket on, Debeste. I'm coming." Manfred snapped as he entered the room with a large bowl of popcorn in one hand and a bottle of chardonnay in the other. "It wouldn't kill you to wait ten minutes."

"You were making popcorn and getting drinks, not preparing for a case! Hell, my stupid bastard of a son could have done that faster than you, y'know!" Blaise yelled. "Granted, he'd probably burn my house to the ground in the process, but you get the idea."

"Speaking of which, don't you have cooks to do this kind of stuff?" Gant asked with a confused look as he fiddled with his hair. "So I don't get why you couldn't have had one of them take care of the food and drinks while we decide on the movie."

"I may have cooks, Gant, but they are used only for meals. I may be opulent, but I have my pride." Manfred replied, handing the bowl of popcorn to his irritable superior. "I can easily handle simple snacks and beverages such as this by myself."

"Objection!" Blaise said with a look of disgust as he eyed the bowl of popcorn as if it was radioactive waste.

"What could you possibly have to complain about, Debeste? That popcorn is perfect!" Manfred proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

"Perfect my ass!" Blaise angrily scoffed. "There's no butter on this corn!" The Chief Prosecutor proceeded to scoop up a handful of popcorn and shove it into his mouth, only to immediately spit it out. " _And_ it's only lightly salted! What the hell, von Karma!?"

"It's healthier." The 'perfect' prosecutor curtly replied.

"And crappier! Y'see, food's only worth eating if it's got flavor and clogs your arteries! And what the hell is _this_?!" Blaise asked, holding up the bottle of expensive wine. "Chardonnay!? Why… Why are you trying to torture me so?" The Chief Prosecutor whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears as he pulled on his fake beard."

"And what's wrong with chardonnay? It's the perfect alcoholic beverage that exudes elegance and class- two things that you wouldn't recognize through your tear-filled goggles." Manfred retorted.

Blaise emptied the tears from his goggles with an exasperated sigh before playing with his lighter. "Y'see von Karma, chardonnay is what you serve if you're: A. Tring to impress your superiors. B. Hosting some big family party that you've gotta go all-out for. Or C. Trying to get into some hot chicks pants by flaunting off your wealth and getting her so drunk that she can't tell up from down. You don't serve it at a guy's night out! This isn't some country club that gives out crumpets and tea! No, you've gotta serve a man's drink- you've gotta serve lager!"

The Chief Prosecutor put down the bottle of chardonnay and reached behind the couch, pulling out a six-pack of lager that he brought with him.

"So it wasn't trashy enough that you came into my home with that garish jacket of yours? You also had to bring that discount store swill with you?" Manfred growled with crossed arms and a scowl on his face."

"Don't look at me like that." Blaise wept as he tugged on his fake beard. "I want to ensure that my night out is enjoyable, y'know? Because y'see, after this movie when I get back home at eight, I'll be left with just my worthless idiot son and my memories of this night. So I'll be damned if it's anything less that fun."

"Get home at eight?" Gant parroted, cocking his head in confusion as he fiddled with his hair. "I'd understand that thinking if you actually cared about Sebby, but I know for a fact that's never been true."

"Yeah, I'd stay out longer, but I have to be back by that time to relieve the babysitter since her bedtime's at nine." Blaise stated as he played with his lighter. "Y'see, if I'm back any later, I'll have to pay her two pennies instead of one."

"What kind of babysitter has a nine o'clock bedtime?" The Chief of Police asked.

"And what kind of babysitter charges only mere pennies?" Manfred chimed in.

* * *

Meanwhile at Blaise's house, Sebastian was sitting on the floor of his living room in front of a Candy Land game board, opposite his babysitter, four-year-old Trucy Enigmar, who was wearing her salmon-colored cape and matching hat.

"Oh, purple!" Trucy squealed as she looked at the card she had just picked up from the top of the pile between her and her adolescent ward before moving her game piece, one of Blaise's socks, onto the final space in front of the candy castle. "Looks like I win again!"

"No fair!" Sebastian pouted, slamming his fists on the ground as tears streamed down his cheeks. "You've gotta be cheating!"

"How am I cheating? The cards are shuffled and face down. You've had the same chances to win as I've had since we started playing."

"Oh yeah? Then why have I been getting the Plumpy card- the worst card, might I add- right when I'm about to reach the end? I don't like Plumpy, but yet I'm the only one whose been getting him for the last 30 minutes! How do you explain _that_?" Sebastian asked, making a frame with his hands as he flashed the young girl a determined look.

"I don't know." Trucy responded with a shrug of her shoulders. "I guess you've just been having bad luck."

"Or maybe you and Plumpy have been perspiring against me!"

"…What?" Trucy asked, cocking her head in confusion."

"Don't play dumb with me! I can see the trees in the forest, and I know that you've been teaming up with Plumpy because you're jealous of how I'm 'The Best'!"

"That's the craziest thing I've ever heard, and I come from a family of magicians!"

"Is it? Is it?! Why else would Plumpy have that smudge grin on his face? He _knows_ what he's doing, and that's because you and him have been working together the whole time! That's why you wanted to play Candy Land! Now it all makes sense!"

"I only wanted to play Candy Land because you wouldn't stop begging me to play it with you!"

"Only because you manipulated me with your magician ways! Pops was right- magicians are nothing but lying, cheating Charlemagnes!" Sebastian hissed as he bent his baton.

"Ok Sebastian, you're behavior's getting really bad! So go sit in the corner until you're ready to apologize!" Trucy snapped, pointing a stern finger to a nearby corner.

"You can't punish me! You're not my pops! You don't threaten me with a coat hanger when you're trying to watch _The Wheel_!" Sebastian angrily sobbed.

"No, but your daddy told me that if you start acting up, I can punish you." Trucy retorted before pushing a hidden switch under her cape, causing Mr. Hat to emerge and don her top hat. "Now quit being knotty and get in that corner before I turn my hand into a paddle!" The young magician threatened in a deeper tone without moving her lips, instead speaking through Mr. Hat.

So Sebastian, feeling defeated and dejected, lowered his head and walked over to the corner, where he proceeded to sit with his back turned to his babysitter and lightly whimper.

* * *

"Let me get this straight: You hired a four-year-old girl to watch your 13-year-old son?" Manfred asked with crossed arms.

"You've seen Sebastian." Blaise stated as he played with his lighter. "The little bastard would completely wreck my house if he was left unsupervised, y'see? As for why I chose a little girl, that was done purely for efficiency. Y'see, I'm not a big fan of spending more money on my failure of a son than I need to. Why do think you only see him wearing his school uniform?"

"Ok, enough about Sebby." Gant said with a clap of his hands. "What movie are we going to watch first?"

"Obviously, in order for tonight to be a success, we must first set the proper tone. And how will we do that? Why, by making sure that the first movie that we view is a perfect classic- specifically, my personal favorite film: _Citizen Kane_." Manfred smirked as he picked up a DVD of said movie off of the nearby coffee table.

"Y'know, if I wanted to uncover some mysteries about a dead guy, I'd go to work and have you do it for me, von Karma."

"And what riveting masterpiece of a film- and use the term loosely- did you have in mind, Debeste?" Manfred irritably asked with crossed arms and a roll of his eyes.

"Two words: _Demolition Man_!" Blaise smirked, pulling the movie's DVD out from inside his jacket.

" _Demolition Man_ … Bah! That movie is a mockery both to our lines of work and cinematography in general." The veteran prosecutor scoffed. "Why would you want to watch something so childish when you could instead watch a timeless masterpiece that perfectly captures the complexity of human nature?"

The Chief Prosecutor started playing with his lighter. "Y'know, _Demolition Man_ is plenty deep. Y'see, it warns us of what'll happen if we let the spineless, goody-goody bureaucrats have their way- creating a world in which we won't be able to cuss and will only be allowed to eat Taco Bell while singing the Oscar Meyer Weiner song; all while sprinkling in action elements and a kickass final fight."

"Yes Debeste, because the bureaucrats' are fervently planning to turn the world into a cheap knockoff of Orwell's _1984_." Manfred sarcastically replied.

"Planning? They already have. Think about it, von Karma, when was the last time you've heard someone other than me say things like 'shit', 'bastard', 'crap', 'bitch', or 'f& #'? See, I can't even f*#%&$ say 'f& #' because the f*#%&$ liberal media's trying to be more f*#%&$ corrupt than me by f*#%&$ brainwashing everyone!"

"That's because you're an uneducated brute that doesn't know the meaning of the phrase 'social educate'. Perhaps if you indulged in more mentally stimulating films like _Citizen Kane_ , you could actually behave like a person, and not some knuckle-dragging troglodyte." Manfred snidely retorted.

"And maybe if you cut loose with more kickass films like _Demolition Man_ , you wouldn't act as old and stiff as your outfit, Count Blandula." Blaise sneered.

"I'd rather be 'old and stiff' than childish and garish any day of the week, thank you very much."

"I have to leave in about an hour, so can't you find it in your heart to let me enjoy my movie of choice in what little time I have left here?" The Chief Prosecutor whimpered, his goggles filling with tears as he pulled on his fake beard.

"Absolutely not." Manfred coldly replied.

"But I'm the guest." Blaise argued as he emptied the tears from his goggles. "So being the snooty high-society guy you are, you've got no choice but to give into my demands and watch _Demolition Man_."

"But we're in _my_ home, and what I say goes; and I say that we watch _Citizen Kane_." Manfred growled with crossed arms as he squeezed his right bicep.

"Y'know, you're forgetting that I'm your boss. Y'see, I sign your paycheck which goes towards paying for this house and property, which by extension makes me the owner. So unless you want to end up homeless on the mean streets of L.A., I'd suggest not being such a stuck-up sourpuss and actually listening to my suggestions." Blaise sneered.

"Bah! Do you seriously think that your empty threats scare me, Debeste? Cast your gaze upon the von Karma Family crest." Manfred proclaimed, gesturing to the tapestry that Gant was previously looking at. "Notice how my ancestor, Ottokar, Lord of Karma, is standing victoriously atop three people. This represents how no man, woman, or child, no matter how affluent they are or how much power they wield, can change the mind of one of von Karma blood. To do so would be to start a fight that will result only in a resounding defeat for the fool who thought they could stand a chance against the power and perfection of the von Karma. So Debeste, what film will we be watching?"

" _Demolition Man_." Blaise hissed.

"No, _Citizen Kane_." Manfred retorted in a similar fashion.

" _Demolition Man_!"

" _Citizen Kane_!"

" _Demolition Man_!"

" _Citizen Kane_!"

"Mother-f*#%&$ _Demolition Man_!"

With each objection, the two stubborn men leaned in closer and closer to each other, their scowls becoming harsher and harsher, until their faces were mere inches away.

"Can't we just compromise and watch _Free Willy_?" Gant innocently chimed in, holding up the DVD that he brought with him.

"NO!" Manfred and Gant yelled in unison, both men glaring daggers at the orange-cladded Chief of Police before returning to glowering at each other.

"Well, arguing's getting us nowhere. So maybe we should settle this little dispute with a challenge- winner decides what movie we should watch first." Gant proposed with clasped hands and a grin on his face.

"A perfect idea… so long as it's not Jenga." Manfred growled.

"Here we go again!" Blaise exclaimed with a roll of his eyes. "You lose one game of Jenga back in 2011 and you're still upset about it!"

"Only because you deliberately rocked the table on my turn, causing the tower to collapse!" Manfred objected.

"I was getting comfortable in my seat and my knee accidentally hit the table leg! Sue me!" Blaise snarled, a large pillar of flames erupting from his lighter.

"Trust me; I would have if any of the worthless judges in this city would take my case!"

"Boohoo! I'm Manfred von Karma and I'm a big baby who's so insecure that I throw a hissy fit whenever I lose!" Blaise said, mocking his subordinate's voice in an exaggerated fashion, crying as he tugged on his fake beard.

"I am not insecure about losing because I never lose!" Manfred objected with a snap of his fingers. "And if I do so happen to be bested, it's only because of cheaters like you. That's right; I saw that sneer on your face when you hit that table!"

"Well, you didn't see that sneer when I-"

The Chief Prosecutor was suddenly interrupted by a thunderous clap from Gant, who proceeded to flash his friends one of his infamous stares for a few moments until he was certain that the two men had calmed down enough to listen to reason.

"Are you two ready to listen…?" The Chief of Police sternly asked, talking down to both men as if he was a parent disciplining two unruly children.

"von Karma started it." Blaise nonchalantly replied, casually pointing at the 'perfect' prosecutor who proceeded to give him the stink eye.

"I don't care who started it, because _I'm_ ending it. Manny, you still have that room dedicated to fencing?"

"What kind of moronic question is that, Gant?" Manfred retorted with crossed arms. "Fencing is a sport that the von Karma family has actively practiced for generations. To not have a room dedicated to it would go against centuries of perfect tradition."

"Jolly good!" Gant proclaimed with a clap of his hands. "We'll settle this matter with a little fencing duel, which I'll be refereeing. That way, when you both start arguing and complaining about the results, I'll be able to step in and determine a definitive winner."

"In that case, get ready to appreciate the complexity of Charles Foster Kane, Debeste." Manfred sneered.

"Y'know, that's awfully big talk from someone who's about to get their ass handed to them." Blaise scoffed. "Hope you can maintain that spirit of optimism when I'm beating you and calling you Sebastian."

* * *

While Manfred professed to having a room devoted to fencing, the large, open area with tall ceilings and plenty of high-quality safety mats on the ground made it suitable for a wide variety of physical activities. However, one could easily see that the 'perfect' prosecutor was dedicated solely to the sport modeled after the duals held by knights of bygone days by several racks against the back wall with several foils, epees, and sabres, as well as a glass case filled with several finely-crafted protective clothing and masks.

Though since Manfred and Blaise were both in too much of a hurry to properly suit up, said safety gear was left untouched as the two men each grabbed a foil and then proceeded to stand opposite each other on a mat in the center of the room, their stances ready for battle. And while the prosecutors were readying themselves, Gant took his place off of the mat so he wouldn't get in the way, yet still standing in a position that would allow him to clearly see what was going on.

"Alright guys, since we all know telling Blaisie to play fair is like telling me not to swim…" The Chief of Police paused to chuckle at his own joke, causing Manfred to groan and slowly shake his head. "And since we want to start watching movies as soon as possible, we're going to do no holds barred. In this match, anything goes, and the first person to touch the center of the other's chest with their baton-sword-thing wins."

"The proper term is foil, not 'baton-sword-thing'." Manfred interjected.

"We're here to see you get your ass kicked, Sebastian, not a trivia session." Blaise sneered.

"En garde!" The 'perfect' prosecutor shouted, pointing his foil at his opponent.

"Alright, begin!" Gant proclaimed with a wave of his hand.

Like two cowboys in the Old West preparing for a duel, Manfred and Blaise just stood their ground, their foils at the ready to strike. Sure, Blaise was known for asserting control whenever he could, but as with everything, there was a time and place for his meglomanic behavior, and this wasn't the time. For the Chief Prosecutor relied on a combination of intimidation, fear, and surprise to overpower his opponent's defenses and claim an easy victory. But when going up against an adversary like Manfred von Karma, a skilled fencer and a man almost as depraved as he was, Blaise couldn't just rush into things headfirst. That would only lead to immediate defeat and never-ending gloating from his cocky subordinate. Thus, Blaise said and did nothing as he waited… waited for his impatient subordinate to eventually get fed up with the lack of action and become sloppy.

And sure enough, after three minutes without a single clash of foils, Manfred let out a growl of irritation as he lunged his foil at his foe, allowing Blaise to swiftly sidestep out of the way before countering with a swift kick to the 'perfect' prosecutor's groin. After falling onto his side, letting out a mighty scream of agony on the way down, Manfred was left completely vulnerable as Blaise tapped the tip of his foil against his foe's exposed chest.

"I win!" The Chief Prosecutor sneered, blowing on the tip of his foil like a cowboy would his gun.

"Objection! That didn't count!" Manfred hissed through clenched teeth, groaning as he was still wracked with pain.

"Oh, I beg to differ, von Karma." Blaise smirked as he played with his lighter. "Y'see, the aim of the game was to tap your opponent's chest, and that's just what I did. Ergo, I won the game."

"No, you didn't!" Manfred snarled. "You're supposed to tap your opponent's chest in an even match of skill, not through foul play! Tell him, Gant!"

"Sorry Manny, I've gotta side with Blaisie on this one." The Chief of Police stated.

"What! Have you gone mad?!" Manfred yelled as he finally recovered enough to get back on his feet.

"Well, I did say that anything goes…" Gant replied as he fiddled with his hair.

"He kicked me in the crotch!" Manfred angrily retorted.

"Y'know, if you didn't wanna get kicked in the crotch, you should have worn a cup." Blaise chimed in.

"Oh, so do you wear cup underneath your normal clothes?" Manfred asked with crossed arms.

"As a matter of fact, I do." Blaise smugly replied with a toothy grin to match. "Y'see, with all the people I screw over on a daily basis, I can't afford _not_ to wear one. But y'know, I'm a nice guy, so I'm willing to give you another shot to claim victory with a rematch- sans crotch shots. If you can beat me, we can forget your little defeat and watch _Citizen Kane_. Sound good to you?"

"Showing mercy? You're slipping, Debeste." Manfred stated with sinister glee and a finger waggle.

"Alright, round two! Fight!" Gant exclaimed.

Unlike the previous match, Blaise didn't hesitate for a moment this time as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a handful of salt, which he proceeded to throw right in his opponent's eyes.

"My eyes!" Manfred wailed in pain, his foil dropping to the ground as he pressed his palms against the afflicted area.

"And with that…" The Chief Prosecutor tapped the tip of his foil against his opponent's chest. "I win."

"Seriously, Debeste?! You still carry around loose salt?!" Manfred roared, removing his hands from his face to flash his childhood friend a death glare with bloodshot eyes.

"You never know when you'll need pocket salt, von Karma." Blaise nonchalantly replied. "Wanna go another round?"

"No, I have something else in mind." Manfred coldly replied as he returned his foil to its proper rack.

"And that is…?" Blaise questioned.

The 'perfect' prosecutor didn't respond as he walked past both of his childhood friends on his way to the room's exit.

"von Karma?" Blaise repeated, this time with the tiniest bit of apprehension in his voice.

Once again, the veteran prosecutor was silent as he left the room.

"von Karma!" Blaise yelled as he and Gant chased after their friend.

* * *

When Blaise and Gant caught up to Manfred, they found their friend standing in the living room holding the _Demolition Man_ DVD with his free hand.

"von Karma, what the hell are you doing with my _Demolition Man_?" Blaise snarled, a large pillar of flame erupting from his lighter.

"This." The 'perfect' prosecutor stated with a sinister grin as he dropped the DVD to the ground before slamming the bottom of his cane right on the center of the box, causing the disk inside to break with a loud cracking noise. "What do you say to that, Debeste?"

"Well, if that's how you want this to go down." Blaise growled, quickly snatching the _Citizen Kane_ DVD and snapping both the box disk in half by swiftly bringing it down on a raised knee.

"You fool! Now what are we supposed to watch?!" Manfred snapped with crossed arms as he squeezed his right bicep.

* * *

"C'mon, Willy! Big circles, buddy, big circles! Big circles! Big circles, buddy, big circles!" Jesse joyfully stated with a voice filled with vigor as he ran around the tank his killer whale friend was swimming in as _Free Willy_ played on Manfred's HD television.

"Isn't Jesse and Willy's friendship just the most touching thing you've ever seen, Blaisie?" Gant asked with a grin, looking over to his right to see the Chief Prosecutor sitting next to him slumped back on the couch with a scowl on his face.

"F*#%&$ whale…" Blaise grumbled under his breath as he took a cigarette out of the pack he was storing in his coat, using his lighter to light it up before taking a deep drag from the sin stick and exhaling a cloud of black smoke into the air like an angry dragon.

"Debeste, you know I don't like you smoking in my house." Manfred objected, prompting the Chief Prosecutor to take another drag from his cigarette, turn to his right, and blow the smoke right in his subordinate's face.


	2. Deworste School Visit

Themis Legal Academy. A prestigious high school with alumni in the highest echelons of the legal world… which Manfred despised with a passion.

Themis Academy always boasted that their students became successful and respected prosecutors, judges, and lawyers, but Manfred found that to be one of the most blatant lies of the century- and not just because it implied that defense attorneys were actually worth respecting. For every time the 'perfect' prosecutor encountered a Themis alumnus in the Prosecutor's Office, he wasn't greeted with some disciplined, intelligent convicting machine worthy of his time, but rather some entitled snob who felt that they were on the same level as a von Karma.

To think that these 'prosecutors'- if they could be even called that- foolishly believed that four years in some high school could even come close to the endless studying and prosecuting techniques perfected over the course of centuries. And despite all their bravado and boasting, upon encountering a defense attorney with even the slightest of convincing arguments, these 'prosecutors' would fold like a cheap paper napkin and lose in an utterly humiliating fashion. Pathetic. That sort of thing would never happen to a von Karma. But what would you expect from a high school where at least half of the students graduate because of Daddy and Mommy's money and/or sway?

But yet despite all his hatred for the school, on September fifth, 2016, instead of perfectly prosecuting a case in the courtroom, Manfred found himself walking through the halls of Themis' first floor.

"Curse you, Debeste… Making me take time out of my busy day to do you favors at your abject son's school." Manfred grumbled under her breath. "You could have at least told me where in this Santaforsaken school the auditorium is. If you expect me to find that specific room when all the hallways look identical, then I can safely say that the apple of idiocy didn't fall far from the tree."

Though little did Manfred know, as he was scanning the area in search of the auditorium, there was a girl wearing the school mascot, Justitia, costume- an outfit consisting of a big cartoony head with long, straight green hair, rosy cheeks, closed eyes, and a small grin, a long mint-green robe that covered her feet, and large tan spheres for hands, with the left one holding a massive gold-colored scale of justice made of rubber- walking towards him. However, the 'perfect' prosecutor discovered this the hard way when he walked straight into her, causing both of them to fall back onto the ground.

"Watch where you're going, girl!" Manfred growled as he picked himself up off the ground. "Do you know who I am?"

Though like most mascots, the girl remained silent, instead flopping about on her back like an overturned turtle, struggling in vain to overcome the awkward proportions of her costume.

"What's wrong? Cat got your tongue? Or is it too busy eating from your frivolous parents' golden spoon?" Manfred sneered as the girl extended out her left arm and looked up at the veteran prosecutor with her mask's soulless stare. "What, you want me to help you up?"

Upon hearing this question, the girl vigorously shook her head, earning her one of the veteran prosecutor's infamous finger waggles.

"I will do no such thing, girl. Do you think that someone will be there to help you when things get tough in court? That's the first rule of succeeding in the legal world: never rely on others. But if you're a defense attorney, you need all the help you can get if you want to even have the slimmest chance of lasting more than ten seconds against the likes of me!" Manfred proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

But as if on cue, three tall, muscular male students wearing blue Themis uniforms and orange sashes- a sign that they were hall monitors or something of the sort- rounded a nearby corner and arrived on the scene.

"We heard yelling. Did something…" One of the boys tried to ask before cutting himself off, his eyes widening in shock upon seeing the downed mascot. "What did you do to Chloe!?"

"Calm down, boy. We merely bumped into each other and she fell on the ground." Manfred replied with crossed arms as he squeezed his right bicep.

"Oh, ok." The boy said with a shrug of his shoulders. "If that's all that happened, then-"

"No, Stu! Don't fall for his evil lies!" One of the other boys shouted, cutting off his fellow student and glaring daggers at the veteran prosecutor.

"How do you know he's lying, Vincent?" Stu asked with a confused look on his face.

"Don't you recognize that guy? That's Manfred von Karma- the same guy we learned about in Courtroom Etiquette who wins all his cases by abusing both the defense attorney and the defendant! He knew that Chloe was one of the best students in the defense attorney's course and decided to beat her down just like he did with Gregory Edgeworth during IS-7!"

"Objection! What happened between me and this girl is in no way similar to my interactions with Edgeworth. For one thing, Edgeworth was at least semi-competent, unlike you airheaded youths of today who are more at home in a spray tanning salon than a court of law." The perfect attorney sneered.

"Get him!" Vincent snarled, angrily pointing at the veteran prosecutor who, upon realizing that he let his confidence get the best of him, ran in the direction opposite to the boys as fast as he could, prompting them to chase after him while leaving poor Chloe all alone as she continued to struggle to get up.

Unfortunately for Manfred, it was currently class time, meaning that there was practically no one in the halls to help protect him from his pursuers. But on the other hand, it also allowed for the veteran prosecutor to run through the halls with very few obstacles standing in his way. However, the 'perfect' prosecutor's plan to outrun the enraged adolescents was short-lived when he reached a dead-end; and with nowhere else to run, he pressed his back against the wall and stared at the three boys with saucer-sized eyes as they slowly approached him.

"Stay back, you savages!" Manfred shouted as he pulled out his stun gun. "I'm not afraid to use this!"

"And you don't have to while I'm around, Prosecutor von Karma." Aristotle Means angrily stated with a scowl on his face as he walked over to the boys. "Stewart Dentiant, Vincent Dissive, and Ulises Donmatters, what is the meaning of this?"

As soon as the toga-wearing teacher sternly asked his questions, all of the bravado that the boys were exuding vanished in an instant, leaving them shaking in their boots."

"Professor Means, I-er, we… It's not what it looks like!" Vincent proclaimed with pure terror in his voice. "We-"

"I don't want to hear your excuses, Mr. Dissive!" Aristotle snapped, cutting the adolescent off by slamming the end of his spear on the ground. "Prosecutor von Karma is an esteemed guest of our fine institution, and I will not stand by as you treat him like some common thug! I don't know what your other teachers have been telling you, but I know for a fact that during all of the classes I've taught you three boys, I have never once condoned this kind of barbaric behavior!"

"But Professor Means, we didn't chase Prosecutor von Karma without good reason." Stu chimed in, timidly raising his finger.

"Yeah! Von Karma pushed Chloe to the ground and was verbally abusing her just like he does with all the other defense attorneys he runs into!" Vincent angrily mentioned, pointing an accusing finger at the veteran prosecutor.

"I certainly will talk with Prosecutor von Karma about his role in this incident, but the way you three reacted to it is inexcusable, deplorable, and only serves to sully the good reputation of lawyers that our fine institution has worked so hard to establish." Aristotle growled with his head lowered and gaze pointed towards the ground. "Why, what credible defense attorneys worth their salt gang up on and attempt to assault a renowned prosecutor just for having different opinions?"

 _All of them._ Manfred thought to himself, hiding the tinniest of sneers on his face.

"That's why I want you three to report to Room 103 and for each of you to write the phrase 'I will engage in mob mentality' one thousand times. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, Professor Means..." The three boys groaned in unison.

"Good. Now march over there and get started before I get half a mind to grade your most recent exams more harshly than normal." Aristotle snapped, pointing down the hall towards a nearby classroom, prompting the boys to all run inside the room as fast as they could. "I'm so sorry about that, Prosecutor von Karma." The Hellenistic professor said with a look of remorse on his face. "I assure you that most of our students are in no way hostile towards guests."

Aristotle Means may have been a defense attorney, but he wasn't as bad as all the others. For one thing, he actually showed Manfred respect and admiration for the von Karma way of creating the perfect case, unlike practically everyone else he encountered who either scoffed at him or treated him like some amoral beast. Going off of that, unlike other defense attorneys who always preach clichéd ideals such as 'finding the truth' and 'helping the helpless', Aristotle was perfectly capable of admitting that his main goal of being in court was winning cases. So in a sense, Aristotle was more like a prosecutor than a defense attorney, and in some ways better than a good deal of prosecutors that Manfred had worked with, making him worthy of being one of the few defense attorneys to be treated civilly by the 'perfect' prosecutor.

"Don't worry about it, Means." Manfred calmly responded as he returned his stun gun to his pocket and smoothed out some wrinkles that had formed in his coat. "And to set the record straight about that mascot-"

"Don't worry about it, Prosecutor von Karma. Any friend of Chairman Debeste, one of this school's top donors, is allowed to employ virtually any means that they feel are necessary to reach their desired ends here. Why, you could have stabbed a student and left their body in front of the school and I'd defend you." Aristotle joked with his infamously disturbing grin.

"As if I'd leave behind enough evidence to justify my arrest if I did such an act." Manfred smirked.

"True, true…" Aristotle noted, his gaze and focus dedicated to the globe on the end of his spear which he was spinning. "So, what business brings you to Themis on this fine day?"

"As much as I don't want to be here, Debeste isn't giving me much of a choice." Manfred grumbled with crossed arms. "Apparently he wants me to be a judge for some contest his son's competing in."

"Of course!" Aristotle proclaimed, forming an 'ok' sign with his free hand and smiling. "How could it have slipped my mind? Chairman Debeste graciously volunteered you to be a judge to serve alongside me for the 'What is the Law to Me' speech contest. Now, let's go up to the auditorium and meet with him and the third judge." The Hellenistic professor stated, gesturing to a nearby staircase leading up to the upper floor with his spear.

"Why do I have a bad feeling about this?" Manfred muttered under his breath as he followed Aristotle up the stairs.

* * *

"Of course _you_ have to be the third judge! Why am I not surprised?" Manfred growled as he stood outside the second-floor auditorium face-to-face with Gant, who looked as jovial as always, while Blaise and Aristotle stood off to side with looks of amusement.

"It's good to see you too, Manny." Gant warmly replied.

"Seriously, Debeste? It's bad enough that you're making me judge this ridiculous competition, but to make me do so seated next to the guy who has been irritating us with his whispers of 'commentary' during every movie and show since kindergarten?"

"Well, excuse me for wanting to bring joy to your life, Manny." Gant remarked with his infamous look.

"Y'know, like it or not, von Karma, you and Gant are two of my most reliable connections; and I need people who I can depend on for this event." Blaise stated in a hushed tone as he played with his lighter. "Y'see, Sebastian's gonna be winning this little competition thanks to my control over your precious win record, my friendship with Gant, and my ability to bribe Means."

"I can't believe you sometimes, Debeste!" Manfred roared. You're forcing me to waste my day in this purgatory filled with entitled brats- preventing me from working on perfect cases and enjoying life- so that you can boost your dimwitted son's overinflated ego!"

"Y'know, don't think of this as boosting Sebastian's self-esteem, but rather helping out your friend and boss. Y'see, if Sebastian loses, he'll be a blubbering mess and even more annoying than he already is." Blaise growled/whispered, causing a large flame to emerge from his lighter. "I can just imagine it now… 'Waaah! Pops, I'm sad! I feel so debated and want a hug! Waaah!'" The corrupt chairman cried in an over-the-top imitation of his son's voice, pulling at his fake beard as tears filled his goggles before immediately emptying them out.

"Your son's emotional issues are none of my concern!" Manfred bellowed with a snap of his fingers. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have cases to work on."

"Fine, von Karma. But if Sebastian loses, I'll cheer him up by dropping him off at your house for a sleep over."

"You wouldn't…!" Manfred exclaimed, reeling back as a few drops of cold sweat trickled down his brow.

"Would I…?" Blaise sneered. "Y'know, von Karma, all I need is 30 minutes and I'll be at your place with the moron and a Scrabble board; and just so y'know, Sebastian still vehemently believes that the word 'new' is spelled N-E-U."

"Fine, I'll play your little game, Debeste." Manfred snarled as he slammed the end of his cane on the ground out of frustration.

"Good to hear. Now you better get in there." The demented chairman gestured to the auditorium's doors. "After all, a perfect judge shouldn't be late."

"Chairman Debeste deserves a gold star for his views on punctuality!" Aristotle exclaimed, forming an 'ok' sign with his free hand. "Let's make our way to the judges' table posthaste." The Hellenistic professor stated as he led Manfred and Gant into the auditorium.

* * *

Manfred may have hated Themis Academy, but he had to admit that sitting at the judge's table wasn't all that bad- a perfect view that wasn't blocked off by the backs of heads, comfy seats, and a nice glossy tabletop. But it was kind of hard to enjoy those perks when his childhood friend and superior was poking the back of his head.

"Will you stop that?" Manfred hissed, turning his head and flashing Blaise a look of pure venom.

"What? Can't a guy have a little fun?" Blaise asked with a mischievous grin.

"Not when that fun is trying my already-strained patience." Manfred snapped. "And why are you even sitting in the front row? In the 60 years I've known you, you've never sat in the front row at any event, let alone something for your son whose picture you've taped to a dartboard in your basement."

"True, true. But how else am I supposed to yell insults and throw trash at Sebastian if I'm sitting anywhere else, y'know?" Blaise rhetorically asked, pulling out a rotten tomato out of his pocket to show his subordinate before storing it away, prompting Manfred to turn back around and face forward.

"You have to admire Chairman Debeste's zest for life and fun." Aristotle noted with an unsettling toothy grin.

"For the life of me, I can't understand how you can be such a brownnoser towards Debeste." Manfred huffed.

"You would if you saw the designs for the sunroom I'm having built onto my house thanks to his… contributions." Aristotle calmly replied. "But now's not the time for conversation, for today's event is about to start." The Hellenistic professor stated as the lights in the auditorium dimmed as Constance Courte walked over to a podium positioned on the back-center portion of the stage.

"Greetings, ladies and gentlemen, students and parents!" Constance enthusiastically stated with a warm smile on her face. "For those of you who don't know, I'm Constance Courte, a teacher in the judge course; and I, on behalf of my fellow staff members would like to thank you all for joining us for Themis Legal Academy's 56th annual speech contest, as well as our panel of judges! From my left to right, we first have our very own lawyer course professor, Aristotle Means!"

A spotlight shined on the Hellenistic professor, prompting him to stand up and turn towards the crowd, waving to them with that unnerving smile of his.

"Thank you! It's both an honor and delight to be here today!" Aristotle proclaimed, earning a round of applause before sitting back down in his seat."

"Our next two judges are both leaders in their respective fields that I've personally had the… pleasure of working with on numerous occasions, the first being a prosecutor who never misses a beat and never loses a case, Manfred von Karma!" Constance announced, trying her hardest to repress the memories of countless times the 'perfect' prosecutor disregarded her authority as a judge and did whatever injustices he pleased behind a smile.

Though even as the spotlight shined on Manfred, he kept seated and quiet in an attempt to make this day as least painful as possible. However, that plan was short-lived as Gant- who was chuckling with a mischievous grin on his face- grabbed the 'perfect' prosecutor's left arm and began to haphazardly flail it about after lifting up as high as he could, causing the crowd to burst out into laughter. However, Manfred quickly regained control of the situation by ripping his arm out of his friend's clutches while flashing him a death glare.

"And last but not least, a man who I see has continued to maintain his wonderful sense of humor…" Constance giggled, covering her mouth with her hand out of courtesy. "We have the Chief of Police, Damon Gant!"

Like with the two judges before him, the spotlight shined on Gant, prompting him to embrace his extroverted personality by springing up out of his chair and facing the applauding crowd with a big, goofy grin.

"It's great to see so much positive energy in this room!" Gant proclaimed with a clap of his hands. "I just want to tell all you bright young students here that while you all have the potential to be some of the best lawyers, prosecutors, and judges around, that doesn't mean your career is set in stone. Why, some of the most extraordinary people I've worked with have had several job changes. Why, take our current chief prosecutor, Lana Skye, for example. She studied to be a prosecutor, yet she worked by my side as a detective for several years and did a heck of a job before she transitioned into her chief prosecutor job. So if any of you are interested in becoming detectives and following in Chief Prosecutor Skye's footsteps, meet me by the pool and I'll give you more details."

Once again, a round of applause reverberated throughout the room as Gant sat back down in his seat.

 _Yes, because everyone and their grandmother is clamoring for the chance to be your puppet._ Manfred wryly thought to himself.

"Thank you for your wonderful offer, Chief Gant! I'm sure many of our students will jump at it. And before you ask, yes, we'll allow you to swim in the pool while giving your talk. Otherwise, we all know you'd have one eye on the students, one eye on the pool, and your entire mind on when you can swim." Constance joked, earning many laughs from the audience and a roll of the eyes from Manfred. "Now, The topic of this year's contest is 'What the law means to me', a concept that our students ponder every day as they work to be the best, brightest, and most upstanding people they can be. So without further ado, I would like to introduce you to our first contestant from the lawyer's course: Hugh O'Connor!"

The crowd let out a round of applause as Hugh sauntered onstage, dressed in his blue school uniform, with a look of sheer arrogance on his face.

"Blaisie…" Gant whispered, turning around and tapping the demented chairman's leg.

"What?" Blaise whispered back.

"I'm starting to feel a bit hungry. Mind going out and getting me a candy bar from one of the vending machines?"

"Get it yourself."

"I can't, Blaisie, I'm a judge."

"If you knew this could be an issue, why didn't you get one during the 15 minutes we spent waiting for von Karma?" The corrupt chairman hissed.

"Because I wasn't hungry then. C'mon, Blaisie, help a buddy out!" Gant pleaded, giving his friend a pair of puppy dog eyes.

"Then you're going hungry, because y'see, I'm not leaving my seat and risking missing out on throwing trash at my worthless son's head."

"Fine, have it your way, Blaisie. But just so you know, I'm not me when I'm hungry, and when I'm not me, I may do things that I normally wouldn't do…" Gant whispered as he fiddled with his hair before stopping and giving his friend one of his infamous stares. "Like voting for someone other than Sebby and convincing Meanie Genie to do the same."

"You're bluffing. Y'see, Sebastian has a reputation at this school. People will start to question things if he loses and you know that I won't hesitate to take you down."

"I have a hunch that Sebby losing won't be surprising N-E-U-S to the audience." Gant sneered as he grabbed at his tie.

"Fine, I'll get you your damn candy bar after this first speech." Blaise growled, causing a large pillar of flame erupted from his lighter before both him and the Chief of Police returned their focus to the stage, where Hugh was standing behind the podium.

"Webster's Dictionary defines law as a binding custom or practice of a community and/or a rule of conduct or action prescribed or formally recognized as binding or enforced by a controlling authority." Hugh smugly stated with a smirk on his face.

"So, what kind of candy bar are you in the mood for?" Blaise hastily whispered.

"3 Musketeers, please." Gant chirped, prompting the corrupt chairman to rush out of the auditorium as fast as he could.

* * *

"I swear to God, where's a damn vending machine when you need one?" Blaise grumbled as he walked through the hall outside of the auditorium. "But at least I don't have to listen to that kid's clichéd as crap speech. What kind of prick quotes the dictionary? Even I don't pull that kind of- Finally, a vending machine! About time!" The corrupt chairman rejoiced as he found a brightly illuminated vending machine with the word 'Candy' spelled out in big, gold letters, complementing the machine's purple coloring quite nicely. "Now to just get out my wallet…"

Blaise reached into a hidden pocket sewn into the inner thigh of his pant's right leg and pulled out his wallet, taking out a five-dollar bill before returning the bright-red leather case to his pocket.

"Y'know, I'm a genius for thinking up that foolproof anti-pickpocketing measure." The corrupt chairman smirked before inserting his money into the machine, only for it to be immediately spat out. "Damn! Is this gonna be one of _those_ days…?"

Once again, Blaise inserted the bill into the machine, only for it to be again to be spat out.

"Yep! It's one of those days- the kind where you really need to use the vending machine, but it pulls a Sebastian and makes life a thousand times more difficult!" Blaise snarled, causing a large pillar of flames to erupt from his lighter. "Well, Mr. Vending Machine, like practically everyone I've ever met, I've got ways of bending you to my will."

Blaise chuckled to himself, pleased by his ingenuity, as he pressed the bill between his palms in order to smooth it out to the best of his ability before re-inserting it into the machine. Though much to the psychotic prosecutor's disdain, his money was once again ejected from the machine.

"AAAAH!" Blaise screamed at the top of his lungs, his face turning red with frustration as he grabbed the bill from the machine and glared into the eyes of the picture of Abraham Lincoln on it. "Listen here, Lincoln, you better go in that machine and stay there, or I will make you disappear like Booth did all those years ago! Y'see, I'm not afraid to go to your grave, dig up your corpse, and turn your skull into a puppet that I'll give to my idiot son as a birthday gift! Is that what you want? You want your final fate to be a toy for my worthless moron of a son to tell all of his problems to? Because that's what'll happen if I see you come outta that machine, y'know!"

After finishing his rant, the demented public official forcefully inserted the bill into the machine once more, and much to his delight, it wasn't ejected this time.

"That's more like it!" Blaise exclaimed with a toothy grin. "Now to just-"

Suddenly, a high pitched beep could be heard from the machine as the lights on the buttons start to flicker and dim before, ultimately, the device shut off completely.

"Why!? Why do I have to suffer!?" Blaise wept as he pulled on his fake beard. "Well, time to go find another damn vending machine." The corrupt public official sighed as he walked down the hall and emptied the tears from his goggles.

* * *

"… And that's why I always have a ball when I think about the law. Thank you." Hugh haughtily stated, reveling in the applause of the audience before walking offstage with a smirk on his face."

"What I wouldn't give for a cup of hemlock right now…" Aristotle groaned. "That speech was so generic and unoriginal. It was like one of his essays, only I didn't have the luxury of skimming through it."

"Tell me about it. That boy made the defense attorneys I go up against in court seem like Nobel Laureates." Manfred commented.

"Luckily for us, the next student is much more gifted when it comes to matters such as this… even if he does follow the ideal of 'pursuing the truth'." Aristotle stated, his countenance becoming cold and stern.

"Thank you, Hugh, for sharing your views with us." Constance said as she took the arrogant student's place behind the podium. "Now from the prosecutor course, our next student is a boy that is an achiever among achievers that puts 110% into everything he does. And while I have never personally taught any of his classes, I've had the privilege of speaking to him on a number of occasions and am glad to say that he has his priorities in check. So with great pleasure, our next student is Klavier Gavin!"

As Klavier walked onstage wearing his red uniform, the room filled with a roar of applause- particularly from the females in the audience- as the blond student took Constance's place behind the podium.

"Thank you, Professor Courte." Klavier replied with a smile before clearing his throat and beginning to read his speech. "What does the law mean to me? It means everything. Without the law, there would be no order- thieves would steal without a second thought, murderers would kill without remorse, and people would live their lives without security, only fear. And without the law, we would not have advanced as a species beyond living in caves and fighting for scraps of food.

"However, while the law has many benefits, it- like the scales held by Lady Justice Herself- must be balanced. While there are many people who wish to see the law used exclusively for the pursuit and maintenance of justice, there are others who wish to corrupt it- bending and twisting so that they can exploit it for their own nefarious purposes; which is why prosecutors, defense attorneys, and judges exist.

"These individuals serve the people of our great nation by keeping watch over the justice system and ensuring that these aforementioned villains who dare to abuse the law don't succeed in their plans of bending the truth. Prosecutors do this by gathering evidence- whether in the form of investigating the crime scene, collecting witness testimony, and questioning the defendant- to build a sound case that justifies an arrest; defense attorneys ensure that the trial is not one-sided and that no piece of evidence, even that which defies the conclusions that the police had already arrived at, is overlooked; and judges serve as mediators- ensuring that the trial progresses in a civilized, orderly manner and that both the prosecutor and defense attorney don't use improper means to achieve their desired ends- and unbiased decision makers who ensure that the defendant receives their rightful verdict after hearing all of the facts and looking over all of the evidence.

"As you can probably guess by my last name, I'm the son of renowned defense attorney Koen Gavin and the brother of up-and-coming defense attorney Kristoph Gavin. So with that in mind, you may be wondering why I'm studying to be a prosecutor. And before you ask, it's not because of the fancy offices or the fact that they are seen more favorably by the public. No, I'm pursuing the path of the prosecutor so that I can help our legal system be more honest.

"You see, I've heard countless stories from my dad and brother about how defense attorneys are treated like second-class citizens. When they arrive at the crime scene in order to find evidence to prove their client's innocence, they are usually barred from entry as if they're civilians with no purpose whatsoever until the prosecutor's done with their investigation. And even when they are allowed to perform their own investigation, the prosecutor and police will not reveal any of their findings until the actual trial. So to that, I ask all of you, how does this flawed system help us find the truth? How can the defendant receive a fair trial when their attorney finds out the victim's cause of death at the eleventh hour or, even worse, gets a copy of the autopsy report before the trial, only to arrive in court and learn that it's been 'updated' Prosecutor Edgeworth-style that favors the prosecution? And what of the crime scene? Who's to say that the prosecutor in charge didn't alter the crime scene to throw off the defense attorney and used their ability to cut the lead detective's salary to keep them silent?

"That's why I want to be a prosecutor. I want to create a world where prosecutors and defense attorneys can work together, bringing forth their different views and ideas to help us reach the truth. That's why the law is everything to me- my past, my present, and my future."

As Klavier walked offstage, a roar of applause much louder than the one that occurred when his name was first called emanated throughout the room.

"Great job, Klavier!" Constance whispered into the adolescent's ear as they passed by each other, patting him on the shoulder as she made her way to the podium.

"I hated that speech it. It was evil." Manfred curtly stated with crossed arms.

"While I personally don't agree with the points Gavin brought up, you have to admit that his message was well-worded and quite engaging- a vast improvement over O'Connor's." Aristotle calmly retorted, forming an 'ok' sign with his free hand." "What do you think, Chief Gant?"

"I think that Blaisie should've been back with my candy bar by now. Where the heck is he?" Gant asked as he scanned the room.

"I've stopped trying to figure Debeste out years ago. He's probably out taking a smoke break or something like that." Manfred indifferently replied.

"Next on our list of students is one from the judge course. And while she doesn't have the presence that Klavier has, I believe that she'll do her best to make me and her fellow aspiring judges proud. So everyone give a big round of applause for Daisy Noitisnart!" Constance exclaimed as a nondescript girl walked onstage over to the podium.

* * *

"Thank God!" Blaise exclaimed as he rushed over to a vending machine on the third floor. "Finding a freaking vending machine is this school's like finding the goddamn Holy Grail! Hopefully this time the damn thing won't break on me."

The corrupt public official grabbed another five-dollar bill from his wallet and inserted it into the machine, which actually accepted the money without any issues.

"Ok, _now_ we're getting somewhere!" Blaise smirked. "Now to select Gant's blood candy…" The demented chairman pushed the button for the 3 Musketeers bar, causing the machine to slightly buzz as the desired candy bar was pushed out of its designated spot towards the pickup area.

Though unfortunately for Blaise, the 3 Musketeers bar got stuck halfway down the machine, pressed against the glass as if to mock him with its very presence.

"C'mon!" Blaise roared. "Give! Me! The! Goddamn! Candy! Bar!" The psychotic prosecutor screamed, slamming his fist against the vending machine's glass with each word. But even after that display of violence, the candy bar didn't even slightly budge.

For a good minute, Blaise stared at the stuck candy bar, contemplating his options, pondering whether or not to go with the first idea that entered his mind. However, while the payoff would be excellent if he succeeded, failure would result in pain and a high risk of humiliation. Plus, it was a plan that the corrupt public official would imagine his idiot of a son pulling off. But what other choice did Blaise have? Finding and/or calling a maintenance person would take too long, there was nothing nearby that could be used to break the glass, and he was not going to spend another ten to fifteen minutes searching for yet another vending machine.

So with the tiniest bit of reluctance, Blaise got on his knees and initiated his plan- sticking his left arm into the vending machine and reaching up to grab the candy bar, which he would then pull out. The first part was successful in that the psychotic prosecutor got a grip on the candy bar, but when he tried to pull it out…

"No! No! Noooo!" Blaise screamed as he struggled in a fruitless attempt to remove his dominant arm from the vending machine. "I'm stuck! Damn it, Gant! You just haaad to have a candy bar! You couldn't just wait until after the f*#%&$ competition to stuff your f*#%&$ face! And because of your fat ass, I have to call my goons for help! I'll never be able to live this down…"

Blaise grumbled a number of profanities under his breath as he attempted to use his free hand to grab his cellphone out of a pocket on the left side of his coat, only to realize that he couldn't reach it.

"Damn it, I can't even call for help! Great, just great… I never thought I'd find myself doing this, but I've got no other options. I've gotta pray." Blaise reluctantly sighed before looking down at the ground. "Satan, you and I've gotta a lot in common, y'know. Y'see, we both like screwing people over, we both like fire, and we've both stolen candy from babies- I know I have, but I'm pretty sure you've also done it a few times yourself. So please find it in the dark void where your heart should be to help me out so that I may continue being the selfish, amoral bastard I was born to be."

As soon a Blaise finished his prayer, Chloe- who was still wearing her Justitia costume- was walking right by the demented public official.

 _Wow, maybe I should try praying more often_. "Hey you, over here!" Blaise called out, waving with his free hand, prompting the mascot to point to herself without saying a word, as if asking 'me?'

"Yeah, you. Y'see, I kinda got my hand stuck in this vending machine. P-Please, I'm just an old man whose only wish is to enjoy a candy bar." Blaise wept as he tugged on his bear with his free hand.

Though in response, Chloe held up her hands, showing the psychotic prosecutor that her costume didn't allow her to grab anything.

"Well, is there something you _can_ do?" Blaise growled, prompting the silent mascot's posture to stiffen as she raised her hand, as if she was suddenly struck with inspiration. "What, did you think of a way to help me out?" The demented chairman asked with a slight hint of hope in his voice.

However, instead of doing something that could actually help the trapped psychotic prosecutor, like getting someone who could use their hands, Chloe decided to do a little dance which consisted of her bouncing up and down on her knees with both arms raised as she shimmied from side to side.

"You're not helping!" Blaise roared, glaring daggers at the mascot as she ignored him and continued with her dance, almost as if she was happy to have a captive audience. "Well, at least things can't get worse… Actually, scratch that. I'm getting that feeling in my gut when Sebastian's gonna screw up and make himself look like a bigger idiot than normal." The psychotic chairman groaned, prompting Chloe to lightly kick him in the side and shake her head like a disappointed parent before resuming her dance.

* * *

"I'm not gonna screw up. I'm not gonna screw up. I'm not gonna screw up." Sebastian kept repeating under his breath, a few drops of cold sweat dripping down his brow as he peeked his head out onstage to get a quick glimpse of the crowd before pulling it back.

"Good luck, Sebastian." Daisy said in a monotone voice with nary a sign of emotion on her face as she walked passed him.

"I don't even know you!" Sebastian wailed as he bent his baton.

"I am in no way worried about Daisy's future. With her extraordinary ability to control her emotions and speak with such a clear mind, I'm certain that she'll be a judge to end all judges. Though while our next student may be a bit more emotional than Daisy, I've seen him put his heart and soul into everything he does; and while he may get knocked down, both figuratively and literally, I'm always impressed to see him get right back up on his feet with a smile and keep on trying. Fittingly, that student is Sebastian Debeste!" Constance announced as Sebastian walked onstage with a smug grin on his face. "Good luck, Sebastian." The caring professor whispered in the blue-cladded adolescent's ear as she stepped off to the side, allowing him to take his place at the podium.

"You don't need luck when you're the best." Sebastian whispered with a smirk before starting his speech.

"To me, the law is Debeste because my pops has a career in it; and since he's the best at it, that also means that I'm the best at it as well. So it only makes sense that I follow in his footholds and become a prosecutor. But Pops says that I can't be the best prosecutor because he's still a prosecutor and is Debeste. Pops was the chief prosecutor until he recently became the chairman of the P.I.C. and he's really, really cool. He sits in this really cool chair in a huge office on the top floor of the of the Prosecutor's Office, which he calls his Pimp Throne, and yells at everyone who does a bad job using insults that he practices on me beforehand- after all, if he can make someone as brilliant and robot as me cry, he can make anyone cry. Can your pops make people cry? I don't think so. After all, your pops isn't Debeste.

"My pops is also a really handsome man that women can't resist. On the few occasions Pops lets me be near him when he's at work, I notice that whenever he talks to women, they get all sweaty, and their knees get all wobbly, and their eyes widen, and sometimes they even get pale in the face and faint. Granite, Pops usually makes me stand a minimum of 20 feet from him when he's talking to someone so I can't really hear what they're saying, but knowing Pops, he's probably so catching that they couldn't handle it.

"And while all the other prosecutors wear boring suits or stuffy, snooty napkin-things, my pops wears tight leather. That means that he not only means business, but that that he's interesting and fun-loving and-"

Sebastian cut himself off when he noticed the crowd whispering in hushed tones of disdain and confusion, causing his hands to become jittery as he attempted to rectify the situation by disregarding the rest of his speech and saying whatever thoughts entered his mind.

"P-Pops likes the color red, and you know what else is red? Umm… Apples! Apples are red. There are also green apples and yellow apples, but I like red apples the best. The green apples are too sour and are a bit hard to chew. Plus, you… you can't bake the green ones into a pie. But then again, Pops buys all our pies from the store, so I don't really know how they're made. Does… Does anyone here know how to make apple pie…?"

Though unfortunately for Sebastian, the only responses he got from the crowd were along the lines of "Stop wasting our time!" and "Get off the stage!" However, instead of taking the audience's advice and quitting while he was ahead, the determined adolescent continued his improvised speech as he fought back the tears forming in his eyes.

"N-No…? W-Well, I-I-I like cake. Everyone likes cake, right? I-I-I prefer vanilla frosting on mine, but Pops says that-that real men like chocolate, so I eat chocolate, even though I like vanillia. Though I like chocolate ice cream, especially when it has rainbow sprinklers on top. A lot of people I talk to don't like sprinklers, but I don't think that they've really given them a try. Pops likes chocolate sprinklers, so… so that's something, right? I mean, if… if Pops likes sprinklers on his ice cream, then I must be doing something right. You can't be wrong if the P.I.C. Chairman shares your tastes. So… So, i-in con-conclusion, the law is important to me because it's important to my pops who likes pie and ice cream and big chairs and tight leather. The end!" Sebastian wailed as he ran offstage with tears streaming down his cheeks to the sounds of the audience's booing.

"Kyrie, eleison!" Aristotle huffed, lowering his head to hide his anger as he slammed his fist on the table. "What did I just hear?"

"The sound of your hope in humanity dying." Manfred coldly replied with crossed arms. "Now you know why Debeste is being so 'generous' to you."

"Aw, c'mon guys, it wasn't _that_ bad…" Gant chimed in, fiddling with his hair as he received scowls from the other two judges. "Ok, fine, it was a thousand times worse. I'm just trying to cope with the fact that I had to listen to it. Though speaking of Sebby, there's something I've been meaning to ask you about him since he first walked onstage, Meanie Genie."

"If it's about whether he's required to wear a helmet in gym class, then the answer to that is yes." Aristotle wryly commented, a look of disinterest forming on his face as he spun the globe on his spear.

"No- though I can't say it wasn't on my mind- I was wondering why Sebby's uniform is blue, while Clip-Klavy's is red, even though they're both in the prosecutor course."

"An excellent question worthy of a gold star, Chief Gant." Aristotle sighed with an exasperated look on his face, forming an 'ok' sign with his free hand. "As you can guess, Themis Legal Academy has very strict entry guidelines; and while we're willing to lessen our standards for the children of more influential individuals, Sebastian was a different story. For unlike other adolescents, Sebastian has a fourth-grade reading level and the basic problem-solving skills of a preschooler. But while we wanted to deny Sebastian from becoming a student, his father 'persuaded' us to accept him, which we agreed to on one condition: Sebastian wears a lawyer course uniform- which we told him is for the 'supreme-super-duper-ultra prosecutor's course'- in order for us to protect the reputation of our more-popular prosecutor course by telling people that he's an unfocused student that doesn't quite know what he wants in life."

"Now for my question." Manfred chimed in. "How many more of these speeches do we have to listen to? Because after the atrocity that was that last speech, I don't think I can tolerate much more."

"Let's see…" Aristotle mumbled to himself as he pulled out a piece of paper listing all of the contestants' names. "20." The Hellenistic professor stated, prompting himself and the two other judges to groan in dismay.

* * *

Thankfully for the judges, the remaining 20 speeches were nowhere near as bad as Sebastian's, with the worst of them being merely boring. But after that apples, pie, and cake fiasco of a speech, boring was very welcome. And before the three men knew it, all 24 contestants were lined up onstage as Constance stood behind the podium, which now had a gold trophy with the phrase 'Themis 2016 Speech Contest Winner' written on the base placed on top of it.

"Before we announce the results, I just want to let each and every one of our contestants know that even though only one of them will receive a trophy, they are all winners in that they tried their best and are learning that everyone faces setbacks. I know that last part is hard to admit, but there's nothing wrong in acknowledging when you've made a mistake, even when you feel like everyone else did much better and that the world hates you for it…" Constance took a quick pause to flash Sebastian a brief sympathetic look as a few tears trickled down his check. "So with that said, have the judges come to a decision about who won?"

"Indeed we have, Professor Courte." Aristotle replied with a sealed envelope in hand before walking onstage, giving it to his fellow professor, and returning to his seat.

"Ok, time for the moment we've all been waiting for. The winner of today's contest is…!" Constance squealed with excitement as she opened the envelope, only for her jovial expression to be replaced with one of mixed shock and confusion upon seeing the winner's name on the piece of paper written within.

It wasn't that Constance didn't want to see them win, she just didn't expect it considering the quality of their speech, if one could even call it a speech- especially when there were speeches like Klavier's that were not only heartfelt, but actually stayed on topic. Something was definitely off since Manfred von Karma, the ramrod of the courtroom and an infamous manipulator of facts and evidence, was a judge, but he was just one person. The other two were Damon Gant and Aristotle Means, the former a renowned investigator famed for upholding justice and the latter being known for his overall upstanding nature despite a few questionable moral views.

"Sebastian Debeste." The optimistic professor announced with a strained smile on her face in an attempt to cast aside her suspicions.

"I won!?" Sebastian exclaimed with saucer-sized eyes and his hair shaped like an exclamation point. "I mean, of course I won. After all, I _am_ the best." The naïve adolescent stated with a smirk, feigning arrogance in an attempt to hide the fact that even he wasn't expecting to win this competition as Constance walked over to him and handed him his trophy.

Not surprisingly, the audience was immediately filled with whispers, ranging from confused, to angry, and everything in-between. But the reaction that took the cake was when a slender woman with long, blonde wavy hair that flowed down her shoulder and was wearing a pair of round glasses with pink frames, a mint-green blouse, and a pair of blue jeans got up from her seat and stormed up to the stage.

"I object! This contest is rigged!" The woman yelled, glaring daggers at Constance.

"Please calm down, Mrs. Gavin." The caring professor calmly stated with a look of apprehension and her hands slightly extended out. "I assure you that there was no foul play."

"Don't you try to pull the wool over my eyes, Courte!" The woman snarled, pointing an accusing finger at the professor. "No son of Kharmen Gavin's loses contests, especially when they read beautiful, touching speeches like my Klavier's! I'll have you know that when he read that speech to me last night, I was moved to TEARS! And don't make me bring up how much time and effort my baby boy spent writing his masterpiece! Why, just a few nights ago, my little coochie bear was so stressed out after hours of writing that I had to rub his little tum-tum while singing _You are My Sunshine_!"

"Ma, please stop! You're embarrassing me!" Klavier protested, his cheeks turning bright red as the other students onstage- with the exception of Sebastian- started snickering.

"I will not stop, Klavier. I will never stop until you are given the justice you deserve!" Kharmen proclaimed. "I'm like a mama bear- if someone wrongs my baby, I will hunt them down and give them a pootie-tanging, just like back in 2008 when that creepy old guy in the Buyer's Discount Select Medicines tried to deny hitting you with his cane earlier that day and had the audacity to say that _you_ provoked _him_. And what did I do? Why, I maced his ugly face and pushed him _dooown_ , because _that's_ what a good mother does! Now, back to what I was saying…" The enraged mother hissed, redirecting her attention to Constance.

Upon hearing that bit about the guy who was assaulted in Buyer's Discount Select Medicines, Manfred's eyes became saucer-sized as horrible memories came rushing back to him of how _he_ was the unfortunate victim of that crazy woman's wrath. And now eight years later, this very same woman had apparently not forgotten how the 'perfect' prosecutor assaulted her obnoxious brat of a son and now was out for blood after _he_ contributed to her son losing this competition.

So without saying a word, Manfred slowly and quietly got up from his seat, and, while hiding his fears of being maced and on the receiving end of a never-ending tirade beneath a stoic façade, rushed out of the auditorium as quickly as he could.

"Good call, Manny." Gant whispered, following his friend's lead and escaping the auditorium without a second thought.

"… And another thing, why are your PTA meetings held on Wednesdays?" Kharmen asked with crossed arms. "Why can't they be held on Fridays so that way we can bring forth changes with the start of a new school week? That's what they did at my older son's high school and things ran quite smoothly."

"Professor Means, can you please help me?" Constance pleaded with a look of exasperation on her face.

"Professor Courte, at times like this, I think back to a saying that my own mother has been teaching me for as long as I can remember- kathe anthropos!" Aristotle exclaimed with his infamous toothy grin before bolting out of the auditorium.

"Means!" Constance screamed, completely beside herself that her fellow professor left her to deal with this distraught mother whose was infamous in the educational community for her outbursts all by herself.

"Wait, where are those judges? I have some choice words for them!" Kharmen growled as she glanced over the now-empty judge's table.

"I… I don't know." Constance let out a deep sigh as she covered her eyes with the palm of her hand. _Probably running away from you, not that I blame them._

"No matter, I'll talk to them later. But first, I'm getting my baby's trophy!" Kharmen proclaimed before climbing onstage and attempting to rip the prize out of Sebastian's hands. "Give me that trophy!"

"No, I won it fair and square!" Sebastian wailed as he held onto his prize for dear life.

"You didn't win, Klavier won! Your speech was trash!" Kharmen snarled.

"Stop yelling at me, you big bully!" Sebastian cried as tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I am not a bully!" Kharmen objected. "I am a mother who is giving her son the privileges he deserves!"

"Can someone give me the help that _I_ deserve?" Sebastian pleaded in terror as he looked over to Constance.

"Don't worry, Sebastian. I'm calling school security right now. They should be here any minute now." The motherly professor said in a caring, yet determined tone as she pulled out her cellphone.

Meanwhile, Klavier had taken out his cellphone and was making a call of his own.

"Hey, Bro…" The blond adolescent stated with an exasperated sigh. "I just lost a contest at school, what do you think is wrong…? Mom's trying to rip the trophy out of the winner's hands while he's sobbing uncontrollably… Security has just been called, so I'd say that you have at least two minutes before Mom needs a lawyer."

At that moment, two security guards rushed onstage and tackled Kharmen to the ground, allowing for Sebastian to run out of the room with his trophy.

"Scratch that, she needs a lawyer now." Klavier groaned before ending the call.

* * *

After being forced to listen to all those torturous speeches, as well as narrowly escaping a reunion with a demented woman from a 'vacation' that he wished to forever block from his mind, Manfred was never happier to be walking down the stairs to the school's first floor with Gant.

"So Manny, what do you plan on doing now?"

"Bah. What a ridiculous question." Manfred curtly responded. "I'll return to the Prosecutor's Office and work on creating perfect cases for several of my upcoming trials. And what of you?"

"I already told everyone in that auditorium what I'll be doing, Manny. I'll be at the pool telling any interested students how they can go about becoming detectives after they graduate. I mean, just because some crazy lady made a scene doesn't mean that the kiddies have to suffer and miss out on learning the joys of detective work!" Gant grinned with clasped hands.

"Yes, because receiving salary cuts is a skill that requires much education and foresight." Manfred wryly retorted.

"Glad to see that today hasn't taken the vinegar outta your pickle, Manny!" Gant chuckled as he started clapping his gloved hands. "But before I go to the pool, I'm going to find a vending machine and get that 3 Musketeers bar that Blaisie never got me. I swear, that was a new low for him!" The orange-cladded Chief of Police growled as a scowl formed on his face.

"A new low for Debeste? We've known that man since we were five and have seen him ruin countless lives and break numerous laws purely for the sake of causing misery. There is no new low for him!" Manfred proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

"Yeah, but this is different! Here I take time out of my busy day to do Blaisie a favor, and how does he repay me? He gives me false promises of 3 Musketeer bars!" Gant snarled as he shook a clenched fist before a sinister smirk spread across his face. "No matter. Perhaps next time Blaisie asks me to do something like this, I'll 'forget' to do it and see how he likes it."

"Well, I, for one, am never doing this kind of 'favor' for Debeste ever again. All of those speeches put a sour taste in my mouth and have ruined my day- especially that Gavin boy's ramblings about how defense attorneys and prosecutors should… work together to find the truth." Manfred shuddered, as if those words were poison. "I just hope that wherever Debeste is, he's suffering as we did a thousand fold!" The 'perfect' prosecutor proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

* * *

Meanwhile, Blaise's arm was still stuck in the vending machine as Chloe continued her little dance.

"C'mon! Get someone to get me outta this thing! You're killing me!" Blaise angrily sobbed as his goggles filled with tears, which the enthusiastic mascot simply ignored and continued her dance until she saw a certain smug prosecutor course student sauntering over to the vending machine with his gold trophy in hand.

"Oh, Sebastian! I never thought I'd be so glad to see your stupid face!" Blaise rejoiced. "I-It makes me wanna cry, y'know!" The corrupt public official wept until his goggles were filled to the brim with tears, prompting him to empty them out with his free hand.

"Really?" Sebastian asked with a look of shock. "Wow, first I won first place and now I get a compliment from you. This has really been my day!" The naïve adolescent smirked. "So Pops, I noticed that you weren't in the audience throwing trash at me for once. Where were you? Were you having fun?"

"And now that joy is gone and replaced with my usual hatred…" Blaise replied with an exasperated sigh. "No, Sebastian, I wasn't having fun. Y'see, my arm's been trapped in this goddamn vending machine for close to an hour! So why don't you do something useful for once and actually help me get my arm out, unlike that freak of nature girl who's been dancing like a Sebastian the whole time." The psychotic prosecutor growled as he gestured to Chloe, who gave Sebastian an enthusiastic wave.

"Oh, hi Chloe. I was wondering where you were. You see, it was a bit strange that you weren't at my speech contest cheering me on like you normally do." Sebastian stated, prompting the mascot to point her gaze towards the ground, as if she was saddened by this fact.

However, Chloe quickly returned to normal when she noticed Sebastian's trophy, prompting her to point at it and enthusiastically clap.

"You're curious about my trophy?" Sebastian smirked, prompting the dedicated mascot to nod and cock her head to the side, as if she was paying attention to the naïve adolescent with every fiber of her being. "It's first prize; though that shouldn't come off as much of a surprise. After all, I _am_ Debeste." The naïve adolescent smirked as he tapped the trophy on his palm as if it was his baton. "Though in order for you to fully appreciate my victory, I'll have to tell the story from the very beginning. It all started last Monday. I was feeling pretty good after eating my toast and gummy vitamins and was feeling particularly auspicious that day, so when-"

"Sorry to interrupt your stupid story, Sebastian, but in case you haven't noticed, which I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't, my arm is stuck in a vending machine, y'know. And y'see, unlike your brain, my arm actually likes to be used. So pull either pull it out yourself or get someone who can." Blaise interjected.

"Pops, I can't just stop mid-story. That's rude!" Sebastian objected, pointing his trophy at his father before directing his attention back to Chloe. "Now, where was I…? Oh, right! So I was just getting out of Professor Svicmanov's Objections and Rebuttals class when Professor Courte walked up to me and told me about this speech contest and how it'd really help me grow as a student. So of course, I said yes and signed up for it. Then, I was so excited that I went to the bathroom, where I accidentally locked myself in the stall again and couldn't get out. So just like all the other times, the janitor got me out after ten minutes of me crying. Then I had lunch at my usual cool kids table in the back corner of the cafeteria alone until you decided to sit with me half way through the period. Then, I went to my Investigating 101 course with…"

"SEBASSSSSSTIAAAAAAN!" Blaise screamed at the top of his lungs as his despised son continued his story without a care in the world.

* * *

 **A/N:** For those curious about the English translation for a couple of the phrases used in this chapter…

" **Kyrie, eleison."** \- _"Lord, have mercy."_

" **Kathe anthropos!"** \- " _Every man for himself!"_


	3. Deworste April Fools' Day

**A/N:** For those of you who are curious, this chapter takes place on April 1st, 2014. I chose this date because I knew I could include Lana and Neil without any uncertainty.

* * *

Manfred hated foolishly unnecessary holidays. Sure, it was one thing to celebrate major holidays like Christmas and Independence Day- holidays that served some kind of purpose- but why take notice of such trite occasions like Halloween and Arbor Day? Holidays like those only served to distract his foolish coworkers and make them even more incompetent than they already were. But to the veteran prosecutor, the worst holiday of the bunch had to be April Fools' Day.

Granted, the other meaningless holidays were a headache to deal with, but at least Manfred could take solace in the fact that they were for the most part harmless- annoying, yes, but something that he could get through with a bit of patience. However, April Fools' Day was another story. On April Fools' Day, people got merriment out of playing pranks on those who they didn't like, and because of that, coupled with the fact that he was actually structured and refined, Manfred was often a target for these little jokes as the fools ironically took delight in calling him an 'April fool'.

That's why after decades of abuse on this most irritating of days, Manfred decided this year to come into the Prosecutor's Office early, before anyone else was even awake, and lock himself in his office for the entire day while he read over case files for upcoming trials. Sure, he wouldn't be able to go to the courthouse and add another win or two to his perfect record, but that was only a small price to pay so that the veteran prosecutor could get through his day without a pie to face, getting pestered into opening a can of 'peanut brittle' packed with springy snakes, or shaking hands with someone wearing a joy buzzer- a prank that the 'perfect' prosecutor would waste no time in responding to by giving the fool a taste of their own medicine via his trusty stun gun.

But even with his master plan of holding himself up in his office, Manfred's still was unable to get any work done. For at nine o'clock that morning, the veteran prosecutor heard someone frantically knocking at his door, repeatedly slamming their fists against it as if they were being chased by some monster. Obviously, Manfred was upset as he wondered who had the gall to ruin his day this early in the morning; but that question was quickly answered when he heard them yelling.

"von Karma, let me in! Let me in! Let me in!" Blaise desperately pleaded, punctuating each sentence with more pounding.

"Nice try, Debeste." Manfred curtly responded, not even bothering to look up from the case file he was trying to read. "Last time you did something like this, I received a kick to the groin, and I refuse to make the same mistake twice."

"This time's different! Honest! Y'see, I… I can't risk going to my office- not after what happened last year!" Blaise whimpered, and although Manfred couldn't see his childhood friend's face, he was almost certain that the man's ridiculous goggles were filled to the brim with his usual crocodile tears. "D-Don't leave me out here to suffer at the hands of Gant!"

Upon hearing that last part about Gant, Manfred's eyes widened as horrible memories of pranks that he had suffered at the hands of that jovial swimmer rushed to the forefront of his mind. Sure, Gant was typically a decent guy to be around, albeit a bit too energetic at times, but on April Fools' Day, the man was a monster. That may sound like an overstatement, but it was true.

The second the first of April rolled around, Gant would unleash brutal prank after brutal prank on anyone unfortunate to cross his path; though these pranks weren't just your typical whoopee cushion or joy buzzer. Oh, no… Gant would never be so simple. The orange-cladded detective would be as thorough and ruthless with his pranks as he was when gathering evidence on a criminal, with his tricks often being utterly humiliating if not downright cruel.

So when Manfred heard this plea from his demented childhood friend, he felt that it was only right to let the man in. After all, there was power in numbers. However, the 'perfect' prosecutor couldn't risk showing any sign of weakness, especially around a guy like Blaise, so he decided to keep his voice as frigid as he could.

"Fine, I'll let you in as long as you stop that blubbering of yours." Manfred responded as he unlocked and opened the door, an act that Blaise wasted no time in taking advantage of as he rushed into the office, slammed the door, and locked it behind him.

"Thanks, von Karma." Blaise stated as he emptied the tears from his goggles. "I just can't risk going to my office today, y'know? Especially not after what Gant did to me last year."

"I know what you mean." Manfred nonchalantly replied as he returned to his chair and resumed reading his case file. "Last year was one of Gant's more brutal years if the prank he pulled on me was of any indication. I swear, it was the second-worst thing that has ever happened to me in a courtroom…"

* * *

It was a bright, sunny day and Manfred was spending it doing what he did best- perfectly prosecuting a case. As usual, the defense attorney was utterly pathetic. Within five minutes, the lanky man's complexion was pale as he shook in his designer shoes, his suit drenched in a cold sweat as he was barely able to find any words that could possibly hope to counter the relentless verbal attack from the infamous Manfred von Karma.

"As you can see, Your Honor, between the defendant's fingerprints being found on the murder weapon, the surveillance camera footage showing her leaving the office right after, and the witnesses' airtight testimony, the defense has no case!" Manfred roared before snapping his fingers. "Now swing that pathetic little gavel of yours and declare the defendant, Ms. Natalie Giles, guilty!"

"O-Objection…!" The attorney meekly yelled, pointing at the veteran prosecutor with an arm that was shaking as violently as a tree branch in a windstorm. "P-Prosecutor von Karma, you're forgetting one thing…!"

"Not likely, boy." Manfred sneered as he waggled his finger. "As a von Karma, my memory is perfect when it comes to relevant facts. However, unnecessary information, such as your name, is a different story."

"E-Even if you try to hide the facts, time doesn't lie!"

"What are you getting at?"

"You don't see it, Prosecutor von Karma?" The attorney asked, a grin forming on his face as he started to gain a bit of confidence. "Take a look at the security camera footage that you've just presented to the court. Notice the time when she left the building…"

"Why… She left at eight in the evening!" The Judge exclaimed, his gaze widening as he noticed this information.

"Exactly, Your Honor. However, if you take a look at the autopsy report…" The attorney said as he gently placed the manila envelope on the defense's bench. "You'll see that the victim was killed at seven p.m., one hour earlier. But if the Ms. Giles was the culprit, why would she stay at the scene of the crime for an hour, especially when it was found in such a state of disarray?"

"Interesting…" The Judge said, briefly closing his eyes to ponder this current development. "Prosecutor von Karma, what do you have to say about Mr. Guinness' statement just now?"

Upon hearing the Judge's question, Manfred just shook his head with open arms as an arrogant smirk formed on his face. For the veteran prosecutor couldn't help be feel sinister glee upon seeing this pathetic defense attorney rush right into his trap like a moth to a bug zapper.

"I would be impressed… if the autopsy report the attorney's using was up-to-date." Manfred sneered as he pulled out a manila envelope of his own, reveling in how Guinness' recoiled back, all the confidence he had just a few seconds ago completely gone as the man went back to trembling.

"W-W-What!? B-B-But I didn't hear anything about the autopsy report being updated!" Guinness stuttered in a flustered tone.

"That's because it was updated just this morning, delivered to me personally by the detective in charge of this case, Damon Gant. And unfortunately for you, boy, this updated autopsy report states that the victim actually died at 7:30. Therefore, the time that the defendant left the office is perfectly reasonable."

"H-Hold it! Even if the victim died at 7:30, that doesn't specify when they were attacked. What if they were stabbed at seven, but managed to hang on for 30 minutes?"

"You dare question my logic, boy?" Manfred growled with a snap of his fingers. "The portion regarding the victim dying instantaneous still stands! So with that-"

Suddenly, the veteran prosecutor was interrupted by the sound of a cartoonishly loud fart coming from his general area, which left everyone in the courtroom speechless, including him as his eyes widened a bit. However, being the 'perfect' prosecutor that he was, Manfred quickly regained his composure.

"As I was saying-"

Though once again, Manfred was interrupted by another fart sound, followed by another.

"Prosecutor von Karma, the court demands to know what you've been eating!" The Judge ordered as he pinched his nose.

"I-It wasn't me! I would never be caught dead doing something so uncivilized in public!" Manfred exclaimed, his eyes the size of saucers as he squeezed his right bicep.

"In that case, who _has_ been farting? The updated autopsy report?" The Judge asked with a hint of irritation in his voice.

At that moment, another fart sounded off, earning the veteran prosecutor a glare from the Judge; though this time, Manfred was able to find where it was coming from and discovered that it was indeed originating from the manila envelope in his hand.

"Your Honor, as you have previously suggested, that obnoxious noise is indeed coming from the updated autopsy report. Just listen and you'll see!" Manfred proclaimed as he rushed over to the Judge's bench and handed the elderly man the envelope.

Though unfortunately for the 'perfect' prosecutor, when the Judge held the manila envelope up to his ear to confirm this theory, it was completely silent. Of course, the Judge, being the fair man that he was, continued to hold the updated autopsy report to his ear for a good minute; but alas, it remained silent.

"I'm sorry, Prosecutor von Karma, but this envelope is completely silent." The Judge said with a shake of his head as he handed the envelope back to the veteran prosecutor.

"That's impossible!" Manfred roared. "I know for a fact that I heard that noise coming from that autopsy report! If we open that envelope, perhaps we'll find a loud speaker or something of the sort!"

"Prosecutor von Karma, don't be ridiculous!" The Judge said as he burst into laughter. "You and I both have been in our lines of work long enough to know that once an autopsy report has been presented as evidence, it's never opened. Don't you look at the court re-"

At that moment, the Judge was interrupted by ten rapid-fire farts, with the last one being held for a good 20 seconds for added effect, prompting the elderly man to slam his gavel.

"In light of recent events, I have no choice but to order a recess until the prosecution resolves its… issue."

"Listen to me, Judge!" Manfred bellowed at the top of his lungs. "I have been framed! And I refuse to stand around and allow some hooligan to tarnish _my_ perfect reputation that I have spent years upon years-"

Another fart rang out, prompting the Judge to slowly shake his head.

"I'm sorry, but the only one I see doing that is you. Now, there's nothing wrong with intestinal distress. Why, just last week, I went to a Mexican restaurant with my son and the food did not sit well with me, much to my wife's dismay later that evening. But when those issues start interrupting trials, that's where I draw the line- especially when you deny that you have a problem and refuse to address it."

"But I don't have a problem!" Manfred snapped. "If you just look within the envelope containing the autopsy report, you'll see what I- What is this envelope made out of?!" The 'perfect' prosecutor yelled as he struggled in vain to open the envelope; all the while, the sound of farts filled the air, as if to mock the veteran prosecutor.

"Bailiff, escort Prosecutor von Karma to the men's room and make sure he doesn't leave until he's gas-free!" The Judge angrily ordered with a slam of his gavel, prompting a muscular bailiff to grab the veteran prosecutor firmly by the shoulder and drag him towards the exit.

"Let go of me, you brute!" Manfred snarled, thrashing about like a fish out of water in a vain attempt to free himself from the man's ironclad grasp. "Like I keep saying, it's not me! This is probably the work of someone in the police department, someone like-"

Suddenly, Manfred cut himself off as he looked out into the gallery and saw Gant staring at him with a sadistic grin on his face as he slowly waved at his childhood friend with one hand and held up a small remote control in the other.

"You!" The veteran prosecutor roared as he glared daggers at the orange-cladded detective. "I should have known you were behind this, what with it being April Fools' Day! You may think that you have won, but _I_ will be the one having the last laugh, Ga-"

Before Manfred could finish his rant, Gant proceeded to hold down the button, sinisterly chuckling to himself as the loud fart sound emanated throughout the courtroom until the veteran prosecutor was finally removed from the area.

* * *

"Y'know, that's nothing compared to the ordeal I had to through last year." Blaise responded with a slight shudder, an act which prompted a sense of intrigue in his subordinate.

"You, a man who has singlehandedly ruined countless lives purely for his sadistic amusement, were traumatized by Gant? What on earth did he do, somehow open a portal to Hell and push you through?"

"Y'know, you could say it was something like that." Blaise growled as he struggled to ignite his lighter. "But to me, it was so much worse. Y'see..."

* * *

Blaise was having a wonderfully sleep, warm and comfortable under his red satin covers as he dreamed of his usual wonderful fantasies where Sebastian was injured, killed, or whisked away by a giant bird. But unfortunately for the corrupt chief prosecutor, his dream was cut short when he was jarred awaked by a sizeable amount of cold, icy water splashing him in the face; and at that moment, he was in a waking nightmare. For you see, Blaise wasn't in his motorcycle gang-themed bedroom, but rather on the deck of a large boat where several men were busy scurrying about.

"Where the f&%# am I!?" Blaise screamed at the top of his lungs as he quickly sat up in his bed, his breathing becoming shallow as he squeezed the life out of his covers.

"Glad to see you're finally awake." An average-sized man with a slender build said with a smile on his face, which was covered with a short, yet styled, chestnut-brown beard. "So, did you have a nice sleep?"

"Didn't you hear me?! Where the f&%# am I?! And for that matter, who the f&%# are you!?" Blaise screeched with saucer-sized eyes.

"Oh, how rude of me not to introduce myself. I'm Joseph Vitalreese, and as you can tell by my attire…" The man stated, gesturing to his outfit which consisted of a white suit and matching white pants and shoes, along with a white peaked cap. "I am the proud captain of the S.S. Bunchberry, the flower of fishing boats in the north Pacific."

"Why the hell am I on a fishing boat?!" Blaise exclaimed as his eyes frantically darted around the area.

"Wait, I'm confused… So, you don't want to be here?" Vitalreese asked, staring at the Chief Prosecutor as if he had 20 heads.

"Of course I don't!" Blaise snapped. "What chief prosecutor in their right mind wants to wake up with their bed in the middle of a goddamn fishing boat which is sailing in the middle of the goddamn ocean?!"

"Hey, there's no need for that kind of snippy attitude." Vitalreese sternly stated with a raised finger. "I'm just going off what that guy who brought you here told us."

"Wait, what guy?" Blaise asked with a look of suspicion on his face.

"With the way he looked, I'll never forget him- a detective around your height, hair styled like a lightning bolt-"

"And let me guess, he wearing a suit that looked like an orange puked on him, right?" Blaise snarled.

"Yes, he was. Though for the life of me, I can't seem to remember his name… Vance? Grant?" Vitalreese cocked his head to the side as he tried to remember the strange man's name.

"Gant!" Blaise roared as he slammed his fists on his lap.

"That's his name!" Vitalreese exclaimed with a snap of his fingers and a warm grin on his face. "How could I forget, especially after he drove down to the docks with that big truck of his in the wee hours of the morning and told me that sad story about you?"

"What story did that asshole tell you?" Blaise growled through clenched teeth as he glared daggers at the cheerful captain.

"Well, he told me that you were dying and-"

"WHAT!?" Blaise screamed at the top of his lungs with saucer-sized eyes.

"Yes, sir. That's why your friend Gant took you down to the docks and begged us to allow you on our boat- so you could fulfil your childhood dream."

"And it didn't occur to you to wake me up and see what I thought?!"

"Well, you just looked so peaceful…" Vitalreese stated as he nervously scratched the back of his neck. "Plus, who am I to question a man whose last wish is to spend the morning sleeping on a fishing boat and spend the afternoon in the great city of Vancouver? Thankfully, that's just where our company is based out of. Lucky for you, eh?"

Upon hearing the boat's destination, Blaise's complexion went pale, his body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

"V-V-Vancouver, as in… the city in… CANADA!?" Blaise gasped in terror as if he was being taken to the gallows.

"Yes, sir, the one and only! And let me tell you, do we have quite the day planned for you- a stroll through Stanley Park, a trip to Granville Island, taking you up to the top of Grouse Mountain for a bit of skiing, and so much more!" Vitalreese cheerfully exclaimed, his chest puffed out in pride. "Why, those Make a Wish people that Gant was working with will be pleased as punch to know that we'll actually be docking in Vancouver way ahead of schedule. At least, I think that he was working with them. I mean, when Gant arrived with you a few hours ago, he had all the legalities squared away, see?" The captain stated as he pulled out a bunch of legal papers from inside his jacket for the Chief Prosecutor to see, which only prompted the corrupt public official to reel back in shock.

"No, no, no! For the love of all that is evil and defiled, take me back to Los Angeles!" Blaise wailed as tears streamed down his cheeks, unable to be contained in his goggles since they were on his nightstand back in his bedroom. "I-I don't wanna go to Canada!"

"Now, now, I know traveling abroad can be a bit scary, especially when you're dying, but you've got nothing to worry about when visiting your friendly neighbor to the north." Vitalreese calmly replied by patting Blaise on the shoulder. "Why, after enjoying some fresh Canadian bacon and tourtière over brunch, you'll forget that you were even nervous in the first place!"

"GAAAAAAAAAAAAANT!" Blaise screamed at the top of his lungs.

* * *

"I-It was horrible, von Karma! They… They made me eat poutine!" Blaise wept as he pulled at his beard. "Y'know, freedom fries and gravy? It's unnatural!" The Chief Prosecutor roared as a huge pillar of flame erupted from his lighter.

"Oh, you poor, poor man." Manfred snidely retorted with crossed arms. "You went to Canada. Meanwhile, the entire momentum of my perfect case came to a screeching halt thanks to Gant. Granted, I still won- after all, I _am_ a von Karma- but I had to spend an extra five minutes in court that I could have been using far more productively."

"Y'know, it was no vacation for me! Y'see, Canada is a vile, sinister land- what its nature, polite people, and igloos…!" Blaise venomously hissed that last part as he played with his lighter.

"Ironic, considering that you're one-sixteenth Quebecois on you father's side, if that ancestry day back in middle school was as I remember it." Manfred sneered.

"I told you NEVER to bring that horrible fact up ever again!" Blaise snarled as a huge pillar of fire erupted from his lighter. "But y'know, I think you're missing the whole point of the story. Y'see, I was on a literal slow boat to Canada!" The Chief Prosecutor wept as he pulled on his beard.

"Calm your crocodile tears, Debeste. At least your suffering ended once you returned to Los Angeles; whereas I had to endure everyone at the Prosecutor's Office and precinct calling me… 'Prosecutor Manfart von Toot' for over two months." Manfred growled as he squeezed his bicep.

"Heh. Manfart…" Blaise chuckles, a devious grin spread across his face as he emptied the tears from his goggles. "Y'know, coming up with that nickname was one of my proudest achievements."

"That was you!?" Manfred roared, slamming his palms on his desk as he glared daggers at his childhood friend. "I should have known that you were somehow behind it!"

"Y'know, I'm not the bad guy here- Gant is." Blaise nonchalantly replied as he played with his lighter, completely unfazed by the fury in his subordinate's voice and expression. "Y'see, I may be an asshole, but at least I'm a predictable asshole, like a hurricane or a guy driving a hybrid car. But when it's April Fools' Day, Gant's all over the place, striking down anyone just because he feels like it; and if we don't do something about it, we'll suffer like this every year until the day we die!"

"In that case, go out and do so. Be the hurricane you claim to be!" Manfred proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

"Y'know, if we were dealing with a normal person, it'd already be done. I would have destroyed their ego and every ounce of their self-esteem with a barrage of pranks- just ask Sebastian or my irritating cousin Joey. But y'see, we're not dealing with a normal person. Y'see, Gant's like one of those bobo punching bag- no matter how much you beat him down, he always bounces back with that goofy grin on his face. Take two years ago, for instance. I got Gant good with the classic whoopee cushion prank- got a lot of laughs outta everyone there, y'know. But instead of getting all embarrassed, Gant just started laughing! But if we work together-"

"No." Manfred curtly responded, wasting no time in interrupting his superior.

"Why not?" Blaise whimpered, pulling at his fake beard as tears filled his goggles.

"Because I'm not going to waste my Santa-given talents pranking Gant. Such trivial pursuits are beneath one as perfect as I."

"Real shame…" Blaise solemnly said as he emptied out his goggles, his voice almost a whisper. "Y'see, I didn't think that you were such a coward."

"I am no coward." Manfred growled as he squeezed his right bicep.

"Then why are you hiding out in your office like a scared little kid instead of shattering hopes and dreams in the courtroom?" Blaise asked as he proceeded to play with his lighter. "Are you seriously going to give a happy-go-lucky, orange suit-wearing detective who swims at the Y the satisfaction of victory?"

"Fine!" Manfred roared with a snap of his fingers. "I'll help you!"

"Glad to see you're finally willing to collaborate for once in your career." Blaise sneered.

"Bah! This little alliance is merely a means to an end so that I can actually get work done on future April Fools' Days."

"Whatever floats your boat, von Karma… So, got any ideas?"

"Debeste, Debeste, Debeste…" Manfred smirked with a shake of his head. "I'm surprised you haven't seen the obvious solution. Have all those tears of yours finally seeped into your brain?"

"Y'know, if you knew anything about moisture, then perhaps your wife wouldn't have…" Blaise sneered, pausing to take out a sheet of paper which he then burnt to ashes with his lighter.

"And if you knew how to keep on topic, I wouldn't feel tempted to tell every single prosecutor and police officer in the greater Los Angeles area to wish you a happy Canada Day come the first of July." The 'perfect' prosecutor bitterly retorted.

"Fine…" The Chief Prosecutor hissed with a roll of his eyes. "So, what 'obvious' solution am I overlooking?"

"Simple. Unlike us, Gant actually cares whether or not people like him. So even though he may be unfazed by any pranks that solely affect him, he will be beside himself by those that cause others to dislike him."

"Ah!" Blaise exclaimed with a sinister, toothy grin, his eyes filled with sadistic delight. "Y'know, you're actually living up to your reputation, von Karma."

"As if there was any doubt?" Manfred smirked.

"And I've just come up with the prefect idea. Get out your laptop and boot it up."

"Fine." Manfred stated as he pulled out a key from his pocket, using it to unlock a drawer in his desk containing his small laptop which he then took out and placed right on the center of his desk. "Though out of curiosity, just what exactly do you have planned?"

"Oh, you'll see soon enough." Blaise responded with a sinister chuckle.

* * *

"I can't believe you didn't have Photoshop on your computer. Have you been living in a cave?" Blaise growled as he watched the newly-installed Photoshop program downloading on his subordinate's computer.

"Well, excuse me for actually focusing on my career instead of downloading useless programs." Manfred snidely replied with crossed arms

"Y'know, you couldn't be any more wrong, von Karma. Y'see, Photoshop has a number of uses for a prosecutor- mainly, the ability to edit photographic evidence to fit your case better. Not to mention, I've found a lot of other uses for it, both practical- having photos showing I've been to places that I've never once visited, proof that I spend time with Sebastian outside the house to get those Social Service bastards off my back- and entertaining. Why…" Blaise snickered as he recalled the memory. "Y'know that picture of Michael Jackson dangling his kid over that balcony? Well, I edited it so that Sebastian's crying face was put on top of the baby's. Y'know, with how soft and stupid that boy is, I sometimes can't differentiate him from a baby. I also edited a picture from that scene in _The Evil Dead_ where- Finally, it's done!" The Chief Prosecutor gleefully exclaimed as he started the program up.

"Ok, so now what? How exactly are we going to be using this program to exact our revenge on Gant?"

"Remember those pictures I pulled off the internet?"

"Yes, though I wish I didn't." Manfred sighed with exasperation.

"Well, just watch me work my magic." Blaise smirked, cracking his knuckles as if to show that he meant business.

And sure enough, the corrupt chief prosecutor showed his Photoshop prowess with amazing precision, quickly going into the file screen without hesitation or delay as he selected the background- a picture of a man and a woman sitting upright in a bed with very little clothes on. But Blaise was far from done. The deranged public official went back into the file screen and selected pictures of Gant and Lana Skye that he proceeded to edit in record time so that just the heads were present, which were then seamlessly put on top of the man and woman's heads respectively.

"Perfect." Blaise chuckled, rubbing his palms together as he admired his handiwork.

"How is that perfect? Not even the mere detectives and prosecutors that are clearly inferior to me will believe that picture for even an instant."

"Oh, like you're some expert on love, Mr. 30-Year-Virgin?" Blaise jeered with a look of irritation.

"While I may not be the kind of person who takes an interest in such trite matters, even I can tell that this photo is clearly doctored due to Skye's face being completely emotionless and Gant's being that over-the-top smile when he saw that the Judge got him tickets to SeaWorld for his 60th birthday." Manfred retorted with crossed arms.

"That's the point." Blaise nonchalantly replied as he played with his lighter. "Y'see, by having Gant's face look all happy and Skye's looking all unenthused, it'll give off the appearance that he can't satisfy a woman. It's twofold, y'know? Not only will Gant have to deal with rumors that he's having some hot and heavy affair with his partner, but he'll also have people questioning how much of a man he really is. And just to make sure we really light a powdered keg, we'll use Gant's email to send it to Jake Marshall, a.k.a. the detective with one of the biggest mouths on the West Coast _and_ Skye's boyfriend."

"And just how do you expect us to use Gant's email? Sure, he's a naïve fool, but he has never once been dumb enough to reveal that password."

"You think I needed Gant to tell me his email password? Y'see, the code was the second-easiest one I ever had to guess- got it after only two attempts, y'know." Blaise smirked as he went to the website for the orange-cladded detective's email provider. "Y'see, the code is 'a-q-u-a-m-a-n'. Now, we'll hit enter and…"

Sure enough, when the Chief Prosecutor hit the 'enter' key, the password was confirmed and sent him straight to Gant's email.

"Seriously? Gant's password is 'Aquaman'?" Manfred smirked with a shake of his head. "Some people just don't know the meaning of subtlety."

"Y'know, that's rich coming from you. Remember how I said that Gant's email password was the second-easiest password I ever guess? Well, you wanna take a guess as what the easiest one was? I'll give you a hint: 'I'm number one!'" Blaise sneered, prompting Manfred to flash him a death glare.

"I get it. Let's move on."

"Y'know, the funny part is that I didn't even have to guess that one! Y'see, I didn't need to since you yell out your ATM number every time you wanna prove a point. Hell, I'm more surprised that everyone and their grandma isn't raiding your savings account, y'know?"

"I said to move on!" Manfred roared with a snap of his fingers.

"F-Fine, if you're going to be number-one at yelling at your friends…" Blaise whimpered as his goggles filled with his tears, only for him to immediately empty them out as he proceeded to write a raunchy email to Jake boasting how Gant was banging his girlfriend like a bongo drum, attach the doctored photo, and send it out. "And now we wait." The Chief Prosecutor smirked, pulling up one of the chairs that Manfred kept for visitors and sitting back in it with his hands behind his head.

* * *

Two hours later, Blaise was still lounging back in his chair with a smug grin on his face while Manfred was starting to get impatient, tapping his fingers on his desk with a look of irritation on his face. Sure, the 'perfect' prosecutor was a patient man who appreciated delayed gratification since he was currently engaged in a 15-year-long plan to get his perfect revenge against his long-dead arch nemesis, but even he had his limits.

"Some plan, Debeste!" Manfred snapped as he glared daggers at his superior. "What's next, are you going to bully your son by watching paint dry?"

"Don't get your frilly-napkin-thing in a knot, von Karma. The plan's still in motion, y'know." Blaise replied in a surprisingly relaxed tone.

"How is the plan still in motion? We've received no indication of such- no emails, no banter, nothing. And you call yourself the best…" Manfred scoffed under his breath.

"What can I say? Sometimes rumors take time to start." Blaise stated as he started playing with his lighter. "But once they do get started, they spread like wildfire, y'know. Just trust me. Maybe we'll have to wait for a few more minutes, or even a few more hours, but it'll all be worth it when we see the look of devastation on Gant's face."

Suddenly, as if on cue, a loud knock could be heard at the office's door.

"Who's knocking at my door?" Manfred asked with a low growl. "Even the lowliest, most idiotic fool here knows how much I despise uninvited visitors."

"Y'know, it's probably someone here to tell you the news about Gant's 'scandal'. I told you things would blow up fast. Now go, greet the messenger." Blaise smirked as he gestured to the closed door.

"Fine, but don't expect any small talk." Manfred curtly responded as he got up from his chair and stormed over to the entrance.

However, upon opening the door, instead of finding some lowly gossiper like Portsman or that pathetic-looking janitor, he was greeted with a death glare from Neil Marshall.

"von Karma, ya'll gotta lot of explaining to do." Neil hissed, pointing a finger gun at the 'perfect' prosecutor.

"If you're wondering how I'm so magnificent, it's because I actually do my job instead of starting pointless conversations. Now if you'll excuse me…" Manfred tried to close the door, only for the cowboy prosecutor to stop it with his foot.

"I'm not talking about your dirty tricks, von Karma. I'm talking about that little stunt you pulled- how ya'll tried to spread dirty lies about my brother's girl, ya no-good varmint!" Neil snarled as he took out a copy of the doctored photo of Gant and Lana out of his pocket and nearly showed it in the older prosecutor's face.

"What does this have to do with me? I may deal with Gant on a regular basis, but I'm not responsible for any illicit acts he commits in his spare time."

"Don't play dumb with me! There's no way Miss Lana would look that disinterested in the sack! According to my brother, the girl's like a bedroom Picasso- doin' all kinds of kinky stuff in wacky positions! Why, even when Jake's tired and doin' absolutely nothin', she still manages to bring a bunch of new stuff to the table 'cause she's in the zone, like some kinda Willy Wonka! Therefore, this photo stinks worse than a skunk in a gym on a summer day, and that there stink's coming from this here office." Jake hissed, tapping the brim of his cowboy hat down to signify that he meant business.

Manfred flashed the young prosecutor a smirk before waggling his finger. "Your argument is built on a foundation of biased views. How do you know that your brother isn't fabricating stories in order to make himself look better? And for that matter, what evidence do you have linking me to this?"

"Don't you talk that way about my brother!" Jake roared as he punched the door frame with a look of fiery rage filled his eyes. "There are two things that Jake will never, _ever_ lie about: Texas, and his experiences in the bedroom. That's why when he saw that phony-baloney photo and the email it came with, he called me up and we did some digging around; and good thing we did. Turns out, while the photo was sent from Detective Gant's email account, the message was sent out from _your_ laptop! Good thing all us prosecutors' laptops are more closely monitored than a squirrel at a peanut convention, otherwise- Chief Prosecutor Debeste?" The cowboy prosecutor asked with a look of shock, cutting himself off upon noticing the corrupt public official observing the conversation with the interest of a child watching a cartoon.

"Hey, Twinkie the Kid!" Blaise sneered. "Have you been showing the kids how they get the creamy filling into the middle of a Twinkie?"

"Now it all makes sense…" Neil hissed as he narrowed his gaze at the Chief Prosecutor. "It's just like when you hung up that photo in the lobby of my head Photoshopped on the body of some 'cowboy' wearing only a pair of pink short-shorts and some white cowboy boots back when I first started here!"

"You're reusing pranks!?" Manfred snarled as he flashed a death glare at his childhood friend.

"Y'know, if a plan works once, it'll work again! Y'see, it's like a more practical version of recycling!" Blaise yelled, causing a pillar of flames to erupt from his lighter.

"Oh, don't ya'll varmints think this is over. I'll getcha back, you'll see…" Neil growled, alternating pointing his finger gun at his coworker and superior.

"Oh, I'm _sooo_ scared…" Blaise sneered. "What are you going to do, come back with Captain Cupcake and Happy Ho Ho and beat the shit out of us?"

"I don't know what the hell you're talking about." Neil stated with a confused look on his face, the insult clearly having gone over his head. "But one thing I do know- three can join in this rodeo. That's right. You aren't the only ones who have Photoshop in their holsters. So come tomorrow, I hope you both like hotdogs, 'cause come tomorrow, you'll see pictures of yourselves surrounded with enough wieners for three weenie roasts." The cowboy prosecutor hissed before marching off towards his office, allowing Manfred to close and lock the door.

"Great plan, Debeste. What other ingenious schemes do you have buzzing around in that psychotic abyss that you call a mind?" The perfect prosecutor wryly commented.

"Ok, if you're so good at planning, _you_ think up the next idea." Blaise nonchalantly stated as he started playing with his lighter.

Manfred smirked as he waggled his finger. "I don't need to think since I've already come up with the perfect plan."

"Ok, so what is it?"

"You know Detective Badd…?" Manfred asked with a devious grin.

* * *

About an hour later, Blaise returned to his subordinate's office with a huge bag of lollipops- one of those jumbo-sized bags people only really buy for Halloween- earning an arrogant look of satisfaction from his childhood friend.

"So, I take it that your part of the plan went off without a hitch, yes?" Manfred coolly asked as Blaise dropped the bag on his subordinate's desk.

"Yeah, like taking candy from a detective." Blaise smirked as he reached into the bag, pulled out a lemon-flavored lollipop, and stuck it in his mouth. "Mmm… But what's wrong… with this picture? I'm your boss… yet I'm doing all the work… for _your_ plan. Y'know, it should be… the other way around."

"Bah! Do you honestly believe that I would allow _you_ to do all the work in _my_ perfect plan?" Manfred huffed with crossed arms. "You were merely the muscles to my brain."

"Y'know… writing some note in Gant's chicken scratch handwriting… doesn't even come close to… all the sneaking around I had to do. Y'see, unlike you… people actually notice me… and want to talk to me." Blaise said as he played with his lighter.

"You couldn't be any more wrong!" Manfred loudly proclaimed with a snap of his fingers. "That note is the cornerstone of this entire operation! You _did_ leave it where you found the bag as I instructed, right? It didn't fall victim to your pyromaniacal urges?"

"What do you… take me for… an idiot… like my stupid son?" Blaise growled with an irritated look on his face, a large pillar of flame erupting from his lighter. But as quickly as his rage emerged, it subsided as the Chief Prosecutor began playing with his lighter. "Y'see, if it wasn't… for that note blaming Gant… for taking these lollies… there's no way he'd even be connected… to all this. But how do you know… that Badd'll confront Gant on this? Maybe Badd's friends with Gant… and lets him take lollies whenever… y'know?"

"Because this is Badd we're talking about." Manfred confidently stated with a smirk. "I've had the misfortune of working with that old bloodhound on too many cases to count. And over the years, I've learned that if anyone wrongs Badd, and I mean anyone, he will not stop until he sets things right. Granted, he hasn't tried to kill or abuse anyone like you and I've done, respectively, but he's a relentless man. That's why I have no doubt that Gant will be calling us sometime in the next few minutes, telling us in a shaky voice about how Badd barged into his office and started raising hell."

Just like the last time, there was a loud knock on the door. However, unlike with Jake, the knocking wasn't the frantic speed of an impulsive youth, but rather the slow, deliberate pounding of someone who was fully aware of what they were doing.

"I don't care how mad you are about that picture, Marshall! I'm too busy actually working to continue this petty fight!" Manfred yelled with a tone of irritation.

Though much to the 'perfect' prosecutor's disdain, instead of leaving, the person only proceeded to pound on the door even harder.

"Were you deafened by your popguns? I'm not opening this door, and there's nothing you can do to change my mind!" Manfred roared at the top of his lungs as he glared daggers at the door.

But unfortunately for the 'perfect' prosecutor, he made a grave error in his assumption of who was knocking- a mistake he quickly realized when Detective Tyrell Badd forced open the door with a mighty kick, hitting the hunk of wood with so much force that it actually broke off of its hinges and fell to the ground with a loud thud. Though what was even more terrifying than the fact that the seasoned detective broke down a reinforced door designed to keep out even the most determined of intruders was the look of intense fury in the seasoned detective's normally stoic eyes.

"Where… is it?" Badd snarled, a lollipop's stick clenched in his teeth as he frantically scanned the office with saucer-sized eyes.

"Are you referring to your common courtesy or your sanity, you crazed bloodhound?!" Manfred exclaimed, reeling back in his chair as several beads of cold sweat started dripping down his brow. "I know that you detectives aren't the sharpest tools in the shed, but even you should know that you don't go knocking down someone's door!"

"There they are!" Badd yelled, completely ignoring the agitated prosecutor's remark as he stormed over to the man's desk and grabbed the bag of lollipops with one swift motion, squeezing the life out of it so as to ensure that it wouldn't be taken from him again. "Thought you could steal… what's mine?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Badd." Manfred curtly responded with crossed arms.

"You thought… you could pin it on Gant with this note." The seasoned detective coldly growled as he took the note out of his pocket, which had been crumpled into a small ball, and dropped it on the 'perfect' prosecutor's desk before taking out and holding the lollipop he was currently sucking on. "But you made one mistake: I'm not that naïve Judge who seems to be put in charge of every trial in this city. Before I jumped to any conclusions, I checked the precinct's security cameras; and sure enough, shortly after I left my office to drop off some files, Debeste picked the lock, entered, and quickly left with something smuggled in his coat."

"Then why didn't you kick down Debeste's door?" Manfred growled.

"Because he knows… what's good for him, y'know." Blaise interjected.

"Because I know it's out of character for him- just like how he's sucking on _my_ lollipop!" Badd snapped, ripping the yellow candy out of the Chief Prosecutor's mouth and sticking it in his beard, leaving the corrupt public official completely gobstruck. "As I was saying, if Debeste was working alone, he wouldn't have tried to leave a note. The guy has all the nuance and subtlety of a mac truck on a muddy road. If you want proof of that, just look at his outfit." The seasoned detective stated, pointing his lollipop at the Chief Prosecutor who was still left in a wide-eyed daze as he tried to grasp the fact that someone actually had the gall to stick something in his beard. "So since Debeste decided to work with someone, it would only make sense that it would be with the guy who's not only been pulling stuff like this for decades, but also has a vendetta against me. And sure enough, I was right."

"Well, every dog has his day- even an old, worn-out bloodhound such as yourself; and based on how many investigations I've seen you botch, you were long overdue." Manfred snidely retorted.

"Look, I don't care what you think." Badd nonchalantly replied as he stuck his lollipop back in his mouth. "Just don't ever… steal from my office again."

After finishing that final remark, the seasoned detective proceeded to calmly walk out of the office through the open doorframe, leaving the two prosecutors to process what just happened. And for the next few seconds, the office was filled with a stiffening silence which was only broken by Blaise's screams when he pulled that lollipop- which at this point resembled a dandelion with think brown fluff- out of his beard.

"M-My beard!" The Chief Prosecutor wailed, his goggles filling with tears as he looked down at his fake facial hair, devastated by the sight of the giant gap where the lollipop was stuck.

"Your beard? What about my door!?" Manfred exclaimed, gesturing to the empty doorframe. "I don't have an office anymore! I have a lounge! I have a place that beatniks go to complain about the world!"

"Y'know, I can easily get you another door. I can have it installed in one day, two max. But do you know all the work I'm going to have to do in order to restore my beard to its former glory?!" Blaise snarled as a large pillar of flame erupted from his lighter. "And it's all _your_ fault!"

"My fault? _My_ fault!? If it wasn't for _your_ train wreck of a plan, we wouldn't be in this mess!" Manfred roared with a snap of his fingers.

"Y'see, I won't deny that my plan was a bit flawed." Blaise stated as he played with his lighter. "But that's only because it was built on a foundation that was doomed to fail from the start, y'know. You suggesting that we tackle things from a social angle… You can barely small talk at a party, yet you think you can manipulate people from the shadows like some goddamn puppet master!"

"Who is a bigger failure, a leader who fails or those who choose to follow?" Manfred retorted with crossed arms.

"Y'see, that's why I'm taking full control of this operation and having us do what should have been done from the start. Meet me at my house at the crack of dawn tomorrow and we'll talk more then. But for the time being, try to act natural and get back to work. As for me, I'll join up with you in a bit after I send one of the interns into my office to get my laptop." Blaise stated in a hushed tone to prevent anyone from learning of this important change in plans before exiting the office through the empty doorframe, leaving Manfred to get back to reading his casefile with a scowl on his face.

* * *

Manfred knew for many years that Blaise was an impulsive man, especially whenever he suffered a setback that made him look bad. That's why when the 'perfect' prosecutor woke up the next morning, he was pretty much prepared for anything. However, despite this, Manfred never thought that he would ever find himself in this situation- hiding in a bush at six in the morning in front of Gant's large, modern-style home which was located in one of the area's most elite gated neighborhood with Blaise. And as if this wasn't humiliating enough for the veteran prosecutor, his superior had decided to forgo his usual garish biker attire in favor of a camouflage jacket and matching pants, combat boots, and two horizontal lines of mud streaked under his eyes below his goggles.

"Ok, this is it, von Karma. This is the moment we've both been waiting for. We're finally gonna prank Gant!" Blaise whispered in a determined tone, keeping his eyes fixed on the house.

"At the cost of my dignity." Manfred whispered under his breath.

"Don't be such a baby! This isn't so bad."

"That's because you're not a perfect prosecutor standing next to a lunatic who looks like he's going out to fight a war." Manfred snapped.

"This isn't even close to war, y'know. If it was, you'd be the victim of friendly fire at least ten times by now." Blaise retorted. "But y'see, after those two failures yesterday, I'm not taking any chances. That's why I'm wearing my camo to reduce my chances of being seen, why we came on my motorcycle which is easy to hide-"

"Except on public roads where drivers laughed and pointed to no end whenever we were at red lights." Manfred hissed.

"Don't go blaming my hog for that. Y'see, they were probably laughing at the fact that I had Dracula in the bitch seat." Blaise sneered. "But as I was saying, that's why I also didn't tell you the plan, y'know. Y'see, I didn't want this scheme to become as public as your ATM number. Y'know, I still can't get over that. It's just such a pathetic way to stroke your ego- almost as sad as how Sebastian actually sometimes uses our family name instead of the phrase 'the best'."

"Quit comparing me to your reject offspring and tell me exactly why we're hiding in this bush like a couple of squirrels." Manfred snapped.

"Fine, fine. Y'see that box on Gant's doorstep?" Blaise asked, pointing to a small cardboard box in front of the door.

"Yes, what about it?"

"Y'see, Gant has a steak delivered to him every morning so that he can have it for dinner- in a sense, think of it like the culinary version of your outfit, only about two hundred years younger." Blaise joked, earning a glare from his subordinate. "Anyways, I pulled some strings, got a copy of the postal information that the company puts on their packages, and made this." The Chief Prosecutor pulled an identical box to the one on the doorstep out from his coat and held it up. "All I have to do is sneak over, swap the packages out, and watch the fireworks fly when Gant opens up the fake."

"Wait. If you're doing all the work, then why am _I_ here?" Manfred asked with an irritated tone.

"Y'see, you're the fall guy if I'm caught before I can pull off the prank. Now just sit back and watch me do my stuff."

Blaise slowly peeked his head out from inside the bush to make sure that the coast was clear, like a cautious turtle checking the world from the safety of its shell, before stepping out into the open. At that point, the Chief Prosecutor channeled his inner-Pink Panther and proceeded to tiptoe over to the door with excessively long strides, so over-the-top that it appeared that he'd fall at a few points. In fact, Blaise actually did fall on his back right before he made it to his destination, which he compensated for with a brisk pencil roll, followed by jumping to his feet when he reached the doorstep.

After grabbing the real box and replacing it with the fake, Blaise rang the doorbell and bolted back to the bush and dove inside it as fast as he could right when Gant answered the door.

"Hello?" Gant asked, looking around to see who rang his doorbell. "Oh, it was just the mailman dropping off my steak for this evening." The orange-cladded detective noted as he picked up the box. "Well, in that case, I better get this baby out of the box and into the fridge."

However, when Gant opened the box, he quickly learned that there was no steak inside when a glob of maple syrup burst from the box, coating his face in the sticky substance.

"Wha-What is this?!" Gant exclaimed as he vigorously wiped his eyes clean with the sleeve of his jacket, only to be greeted by the sight of Blaise's sneering face as the Chief Prosecutor leapt out of the bushes.

"April Fools! That's for Canada!" Blaise exclaimed, pumping his fist in the air as he savored his victory.

Though unfortunately for the corrupt public official, his victory was short lived when he saw his childhood friend actually laughing instead of yelling or showing any other sign of displeasure.

"Good one, Blaisie! You finally managed to pull one on me!" Gant heartily chuckled as he clapped his hands together.

"No! No! No!" Blaise yelled, a large pillar of fire erupting from his lighter as he glared daggers at the orange-cladded detective. "This isn't how things were supposed to go! Y'see, you were supposed to be angry- getting all red-faced and yelling a bunch of profanities and death threats at me while I laughed my ass off- not enjoying it! What the hell is wrong with you!?"

"Sorry to disappoint you, Blaisie, but you're missing the whole point of April Fools' Day." Gant stated as he fiddled with his hair. "You see, it's not about getting revenge or screwing people over- you can do that any day of the year. It's a time when you have fun with your friends by tricking them in creative ways while having a good laugh. Sure, getting a face full of maple syrup after breakfast isn't my ideal morning, but I can laugh at the fact that I now have a new funny story to tell everyone. After all, comedy is tragedy plus time."

"F&%# you and f&%# your goody-goody ideals!" Blaise roared as he ran away from the property and towards the street. "C'mon von Karma, we're blowing this f&%#*$% popsicle stand!"

"Don't acknowledge me when you're looking like that!" Manfred objected as he emerged from the bush and chased after his superior.

"Hey, Manny!" Gant jovially called out as he waved to his childhood friend, only to receive no response as the prosecutors ran across the street and hopped on Blaise's motorcycle, which was hidden in bush.

Though as if to add insult to injury, when Blaise tried to start up his motorcycle, it refused to move or even make a sound, prompting the Chief Prosecutor to mutter a bunch of profanities under his breath as he struggled to find out the problem.

"What are doing, Debeste? Quit fooling around and get us out of here!" Manfred ordered with a snap of his fingers.

"What the hell do you think I'm doing, von Karma! My hog refuses to start!" Blaise roared as he slammed his fist on the side of his motorcycle. "Now, I know there aren't any issues with it! Y'see, unlike Sebastian, I actually care for my hog's health and take her in for monthly maintenance checks! Unless…" The Chief Prosecutor paused, getting off of his motorcycle and walking around to where the fuel tank was; and sure enough, there was an issue.

Blaise couldn't believe his eyes, but fuel was leaking from a number of holes in the fuel tank that appeared to have been created with a knife. The sight of this atrocity was enough to cause the Chief Prosecutor to fall to his knees, crying his eyes out as tears quickly flooded his goggles.

Meanwhile, with a sinister smirk on his face, Gant pulled out his cellphone and made a call.

"Hey Lana, just wanted to let you know that you did a wonderful job following my instructions. Did you have any difficulties finding Blaisie's bike…? Good to hear! I figured Blaisie would pull something like this as some kind of poetic justice after I sent him to Canada last year. Though speaking of Blaisie, I think he's finally pieced things together." The orange-cladded detective stated upon noticing the Chief Prosecutor rising to his feet and flashing him a death glare.

"GAAAAAAAAAANNNNT!" Blaise screamed at the top of his lungs as he made a beeline dash for his childhood friend.

"Gotta go!" Gant stated, ending the call and running into his home, making sure to lock the door behind him right as the Chief Prosecutor reached the house.

"Gant! Open the door! Open it this instant so that I can kick your ass!" Blaise screeched as he repeatedly slammed his fists on the door before quickly resorting to kicks and ramming his shoulder into it.

"I need to find some new connections…" Manfred sighed in exasperation to himself, slowly shaking his head as he saw the scene unfold from his seat on the motorcycle.

* * *

 **A/N:** Here's my reply to a reader that I can't contact through PMs.

 **DJJ680:** Whenever Kristoph has to defend Kharmen in court, he always pleads not guilty due to insanity- a charge that both the Judge and prosecutor quickly agree to when she constantly goes on tirades whenever she thinks that they're 'bullying' her son. For instance, if Kristoph received the typical penalty for presenting incorrect evidence, Kharmen would yell something along the lines of "Don't you penalize my baby just because he sees things differently from you! What makes your opinion more valid than my son's? He was a perfect student- he even skipped the third grade, I'll have you know- _and_ he maintains an impressive win record while keeping his office tidy and stylish! And what do you do? You sit on your big chair and forget so many trivial details, making life harder for both of my sons whenever they're trying to do their jobs! But do you see Kristoph and Klavier giving you penalties when you make mistakes? No! No, you don't! And do you know why? Because my babies are kind, understanding people with hearts of gold- traits that they got from me!"


	4. Deworste Birthday for Deworste Son

**A/N:** Finally! At long last, this chapter's done! I'm so sorry about the long wait. For some reason, whenever I'd sit down to write this chapter, I would typically get hit with a horrible case of writer's block. It's as if this chapter didn't want to be written.

Nevertheless, it's finally done. I hope it was worth the wait!

* * *

It was no secret to anyone in the legal world that Blaise was never one to shy away from calling in favors. On the contrary, it appeared that the P.I.C. Chairman relished the idea, taking delight in seeing proud men and women bending to his will simply because he had the power to do so; whether it was in the form of blackmail or using his power to help them out. However, while the former was never a delight for the exploited person, at least they could take solace in the fact that they were victims of circumstance. But for those poor souls who fell into the latter category, they received no such luxury. Whenever Blaise called upon these individuals, they would kick themselves for the entire duration of the experience. They knew that he was corrupt, they knew that he would never pass up the opportunity to use a person for everything they're worth, but yet they completely cast those red flags off to the side in order to benefit themselves- essentially signing over their souls to the Devil in some kind of Faustian deal.

But out of all the people Blaise could easily call upon for favors, Manfred was his personal favorite. Not only was the 'perfect' prosecutor a longtime member of both of the aforementioned groups, thereby making him all the easier to coerce, but unlike the others that Blaise took advantage of, Manfred actually tried to fight back with every fiber of his being, acting as if he was some bigshot who could best Debeste in displays of pride so pathetic that they were laughable. However, even though Manfred hated doing favors for his indirect superior, that didn't mean that he immediately shut the man out when he asked. After all, one cannot hope to achieve perfection without a little assistance once in a while.

And so with that thinking, Manfred found himself walking up to Blaise's front door one cold October 2016 afternoon, letting out an exasperated sigh before ringing the doorbell and subjecting himself to the P.I.C. Chairman's custom _Ave Satani_ tone.

"Welcome to Hell, von Karma." Blaise sneered as he opened the door, wasting no time in putting a blue party hat covered with yellow smiley faces and topped with a little pink fuzz ball on the 'perfect' prosecutor's head.

"No." Manfred curtly snarled as he cast a death glare at the P.I.C. Chairman. "It's bad enough that you're forcing me to attend your son's birthday party, but I refuse to wear this hideous abomination of a hat!" The 'perfect' prosecutor proclaimed with a snap of his fingers before attempting to take off the hat, only to be interrupt by Blaise, who was already tugging at his fake beard and letting his equally phony tears flow.

"Y-Y'know, that really hurts, von Karma. Y'see, Sebastian went through a lot of effort to pick out that party hat for you, and here you are about to toss it out like it's trash. A-Are you trying to hurt my poor son's feelings on his special day?"

"You know, Debeste, that little speech would have been much more believable if you didn't have a piece of cardboard taped to your mailbox with the phrase 'My son: a failed abortion that has brought me nothing but disappointment and regret for 15 years and counting. Horrible birthday, Sebastian!' written on it in magic marker." Manfred nonchalantly responded with crossed arms.

"Fine, you got me." Blaise responded as he emptied out his goggles. "Sure, I like Sebastian about as far as I can throw him, but that doesn't mean I can't exploit his idiotic wishes for a bit of fun. God knows that's about the only thing that idiot's good for…" The P.I.C. chairman scoffed as he played with his lighter. "So take off the hat, leave it on- hell, you can sodomize yourself with it for all I care- just follow me into the living room so we can get this miserable day over with."

After removing the ridiculous party hat and dropping it on the concrete step that he was currently standing on, Manfred proceeded to follow his childhood friend into the house, making sure to forcefully step on the hated cardboard hat before closing the door behind him and making his way to the living room.

* * *

Manfred may have not held Blaise in high regard in terms of fashion and personality, finding both to be garish and grating most of the time, but he couldn't deny that the P.I.C. Chairman's home decor was pretty decent- not anywhere close to von Karma perfection, but decent in its own right.

The living room's floor was covered in a beige shag carpet, the perfect complement to the black leather recliner and sofa that were in front of a large television screen that was at least 88 inches in length. Behind the two seats was a bay window that allowed a decent amount of sunlight, which was well-suited to the ruby-red paint the coated every wall in the room. To the right of recliner was a gothic fireplace- grey in color and was supported by two bearded, grinning gargoyles with toothy grins- that was filled with ash, looking like it hadn't been cleaned in months. And sitting right in the center of that black leather sofa, wearing a red party hat with the same smiley faces and pink puffball as the one that Manfred had crushed under his boot, as well as his typical annoyingly smug grin, was Sebastian, who perked up when he saw the 'perfect' prosecutor enter the room.

"Hey Mr. von Karma, welcome to Debeste birthday party this side of the Missouri." Sebastian said with his arms spread out and his baton at the ready. "Are you ready to have fun?"

"If I wanted to have fun, I wouldn't be here." Manfred curtly responded with crossed arms.

"Don't be so coil, Mr. von Karma." Sebastian jovially replied as he started conducting. "If you didn't want to be here, why did you come an hour early?"

"What!?" Manfred roared, flashing his childhood friend as death glare. "You told me that this gathering would start at two o'clock sharp!"

"Did I now?" Blaise sneered, trying his best to hold back his laughter, lest the 'perfect' prosecutor taze him. "Guess it slipped my mind, y'know? But hey, look on the bright side: at least now I don't have to suffer with Sebastian alone."

"Yes, but now you'll have to suffer my wrath." Manfred snarled.

"Riiight, Von Karma." The P.I.C. Chairman replied with a roll of his eyes. "And while you're at it, why don't you teach pigs how to fly and boost Sebastian's IQ into the positive number range."

"I'm serious, Debeste. One of these days, I will have my revenge; and when that day comes, you will rue the day that you dared to anger von Karma!" The 'perfect' prosecutor bellowed with a sharp snap of his fingers. "I will fill your life with never-ending misery! And then once we have both departed from this world, my descendants will do the same to yours; for us von Karma's are like mighty glaciers when it comes to retribution- we take our time and are unyielding!"

"Don't worry, Mr. von Karma. Even though you're early, that doesn't mean we can't have a fun." Sebastian chirped, completely oblivious to the deranged perfectionist's hate. "After all, I've been told by lots of Pops' friends that I'm a charring and interesting person to be around."

"Yeah, von Karma, _you're_ going to fill my life with suffering…" Blaise scoffed with a hint of resentment in his voice.

"Oh, I know! I'll tell you all about my week! And let me tell you, a lot of juicy stuff happened." Sebastian with the most intriguing tone he could muster. "So, Mr. von Karma, wanna hear about it?"

"I would rather not." Manfred replied in a curt, yet refined tone while crossing his arms.

"I know what you're thinking, Mr. von Karma…"

"You don't even know what you're thinking most of the time, boy- a trait you inherited from your father." Manfred sneered, casting a glance over at his childhood friend.

"Don't you put me in the same boat as Sebastian!" Blaise roared, causing a large pillar of flame to erupt from his lighter.

"Like I was saying, Mr. von Karma, these stories have never been told anyone." Sebastian proudly stated, completely oblivious to the two men's comments about him. "Why, not even Pops has heard them. Whenever I try to talk to him about my day, he locks himself in the bathroom all night on account of his irritating bowel syndrome."

"Oh, really?" Manfred asked as glowered at his childhood friend.

"Yeah, it's a real a pain, y'know? Speaking of which, I feel an episode coming on." Blaise stated as he proceeded to saunter away. "So why don't you tell von Karma your stories, Sebastian, while I go-"

"You're going nowhere." Manfred growled in a threatening tone, cutting off the P.I.C. Chairman as he grabbed the man's shoulder with a single hand and began to squeeze it, picturing that it was Gregory Edgeworth's throat.

"v-von Karma, y-you're hurting me..." Blaise whimpered as his goggles began to fill with tears.

"Am I now? I guess my mind was in other places." The 'perfect' prosecutor playfully mused with a sinister undertone to his voice. "Perhaps we should sit down and 'enjoy' this time with your son."

"I really don't think that's necessary, von Karma. Y'see-"

"I wasn't asking." Manfred coldly responded as he sat down on the couch next to Sebastian while still gripping the P.I.C. Chairman's shoulder, causing his childhood friend to plop down into the seat next to him.

"Fine. But I'm only doing this just so I can see you suffer, y'know." Blaise huffed with crossed arms and his back slightly hunched over.

As soon as the two men stopped chatting, Sebastian wasting no time in talking all about his week with his infamously irritating smile and an arrogant tone that was so unbefitting that it was aggravating in its own right. And to make matters even worse, the naïve adolescent proceeded to casually lean back in his seat and place his left arm on top of the couch as he looked over at his captive audience, acting as if he was some cool celebrity who was telling tales that people were dying to hear.

"My week started on Monday because Monday is the start of the week. I mean, you can't start your week on a Sunday. That would be accrued! So I was having a nice sleep, but then I was woken up by Pops giving me my breakfast by throwing an orange at my head and yelling that I'm a piece of carp, the best fish. Then, I left the house to go down to the bus stop, but I ran into this big kid from across the street, Billy, who's always saying mean things to me and threatening to beat me up. Of course, being the gentle soul that I am, I tried to be nice to Billy by saying 'hi' to him and trying to be his friend, but he called me a 'turd muncher' and pushed me to the ground before starting to kick me all over and demanding that I give him my lunch money. Thankfully, shortly after Billy started hurting me, Pops was riding by on his motorcycle and stopped to help me. He told Billy that if anyone's going to beat me up, it's going to be him before getting down off his motorcycle and giving Billy a really big wedgey. Really, it was huge! Pops pulled Billy's underwear over his head and then said that if he told anyone on him, his parents would disappear. And knowing Pops, he could do it. Pops is so cool! But then after Billy ran away crying, Pops gave me an Indian burn and stole my lunch money before riding away on his motorcycle.

"Then, I got to school where I met up with my friend, Chloe, and I told her about my morning and she gave me a hug. But then Klavier, this really cool kid who's the second-best student in the prosecutor's course, started making fun of me and called me a crybaby and how I would never be as cool as him, which made me start to cry really hard. But then Chloe pushed him to the ground and he went away. But then…"

* * *

For the next hour, Sebastian kept up this line of conversation with remarkable stamina. The boy just kept talking, and talking, and talking some more, barely even stopping to catch his breath. How an adolescent boy could talk for so long, going into great detail about even the most minor of things- what he had for lunch, what kind of soap they used in the bathroom, the color of the tiles used in Themis' third-floor hallway, etc.- was a mystery to both men, who went numb at about the 30 minute mark.

It was truly a sight to behold, Manfred von Karma and Blaise Debeste, two of the most infamous men in the L.A. legal world, were being unwittingly brought to their knees by an overenthusiastic adolescent boy. The former, being the prideful man that he was, tried to mask his suffering with a stoic exterior, only to be betrayed by the look of pain in his eyes and his knuckles, which were starting to turn white as he squeezed his cane in order to keep himself from replicating the act on Sebastian.

Though contrary to his friend's attempts to restrain himself, the latter had tossed all subtly out the window and was making it know to the entire world- with the exception of Sebastian, who continued to talk as if nothing was wrong- that he was hating every second of this. Blaise's right leg was rapidly bouncing up and down like a rabbit's as he rubbed the fingers of his left hand against the couch's arm, tearing away a tiny piece of fabric with each motion, not unlike an angry cat. Sure, Blaise had spent a fortune on that couch, but at that moment, it didn't matter- nothing mattered. The only thing the P.I.C. Chairman was concerned with at that moment was just how much he despised his son- a feeling that he expressed very clearly by glaring daggers at the boy and snarling like a rabid dog.

But just when the two men thought that this line of 'conversation' would never end, they were saved by a knock at the door.

"I'll get it!" The two prosecutors exclaimed simultaneously, wasting no time in jumping up out of their seats.

"Allow me to get it, Debeste. Enjoy this special time with your son." Manfred sneered.

"No, no, von Karma. Y'see, this is my house, so it's only fitting that I do mundane things like answering the door." Blaise replied as he started playing with his lighter.

"But how could I, a humble prosecutor, live with myself if I allowed you, the chairman of the Prosecutorial Investigation Committee, to waste your time with such trivial pursuits?"

"The same way that you've been living with that penalty that I gave you back in '01- something I wouldn't mind doing again if you don't sit your ass back down on that couch and listen to my worthless son's rambling." Blaise threateningly retorted.

"Fine." Manfred huffed as he sat back down on the couch. "But this isn't over, Debeste."

"Yeah, von Karma, whatever floats your boat…" Blaise sneered with a roll of his eyes as he sauntered over to the front door.

However, the P.I.C. Chairman's look of triumph quickly faded away, being replaced with a scowl when he opened the door and found Chloe, wearing her Justitia costume, holding a moderate-sized square box in her left hand.

"YOU!" Blaise snarled, a large pillar of flame erupting from his lighter. "What the hell are _you_ doing here? Come here to see me suffer again?"

The mascot shook her head and held up an invitation for Sebastian's party.

"Of course you're here for Sebastian… Why am I not surprised? The little idiot's inside." Blaise groaned, gesturing into his home as he stepped aside, allowing Chloe to enter.

Chloe was always enthusiastic with her body language- a trait that served her very well as a mascot- but upon walking into the living room, she really lit up at the sight of Sebastian, her heels bouncing up and down and her arms up and close to her chest as she saw the naïve adolescent continuing to torture Manfred.

"And then I took another sip of water. And then I took another bite of my imaginary sandwich. And then I took _another_ sip of water. And then- Hi, Chloe!" Sebastian chirped with an enthusiastic wave, which his friend was more than happy to mirror with one of her own.

However, upon seeing Manfred, the mascot reeled back, putting her hands in front of her as if to defend herself.

"Don't worry, Chloe. Mr. von Karma may look scary, but he's a really nice guy." Sebastian said with a reassuring tone as he wrapped his arm around the 'perfect' prosecutor's shoulder. "He's my friend."

"Remove your arm from my shoulder, boy." Manfred curtly growled, not even bothering to look in Sebastian's general direction as the adolescent quickly moved his arm away.

Though despite Sebastian's comforting words, Chloe just stared at Manfred with her hands on her hips. Sure, her Justitia head was smiling, but that only served to strengthen the hostile vibe that she was giving off.

"Please stop staring at me like that." Manfred coldly requested with crossed arms.

Chloe kept staring.

"I'm not kidding. Please stop staring at me like that. It's disturbing." Manfred repeated with slightly more anger in his voice.

Once again, Chloe refused to listen.

"Are you deaf, girl!? I told you to stop staring at me like that!" Manfred roared with a snap of his fingers, getting up out of his seat and approaching the mascot in order to intimidate her with his height advantage.

However, much to the 'perfect' prosecutor's surprise, Chloe didn't even flinch. In fact, the girl was so unfazed that she responded by calmly placing the present that she was holding onto a nearby end table before slamming her hands into Manfred's torso, causing him to stumble back and fall into his seat on the couch.

"Why, you little…!" Manfred snarled, his ire growing even more upon seeing Chloe rubbing her victory in his face by bouncing side to side in short strides with her finger pointed at him, almost as if she was laughing at his plight. "That does it!"

The 'perfect' prosecutor sprang to his feet without a moment of hesitation, taking out his stun gun before charging at the mascot with lightning speed. However, before Manfred could get his retribution against the girl who had the audacity to assault him, he was stopped by Sebastian who was wrapping his hands around the man's torso.

"Let go of me, boy!" Manfred roared as he struggled to break free of Sebastian's grasp, which was surprisingly strong.

"No! I'm not gonna let you hurt Chloe! She's my friend!" Sebastian wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he dug his heels into the carpet in an attempt to hold the angry prosecutor in place.

"Fine. If you insist on being a thorn in my side…" Manfred growled before jabbing his stun gun into the foolishly brave adolescent, causing him to be rendered unconscious, releasing his grip as his limp body fell to the ground with a thud.

"Now it's a party!" Blaise excitedly sneered with a clap of his hands. "Way to go, von Karma!"

Though the P.I.C. Chairman's compliments fell on deaf ears as Manfred dedicated every ounce of his being to striking down the defiant mascot with his trusty stun gun. However, Chloe was refusing to back down, dodging each of his jabs with surprising agility despite her costume.

Eventually, after several seconds of dodging, Chloe decided to go on the offensive by tackling Manfred, using her weight to knock him onto his back and send his stun gun flying out of his hand and onto the ground out of reach. Seeing the 'perfect' prosecutor in such a vulnerable state, the mascot seized the moment by ramming her knees into Manfred's stomach, causing him to let out a anguished grunt, pinning him down to the ground before unleashing a barrage of sloppy punches/slaps on him, not unlike that one scene from _Christmas Story_ where Ralphie beat the stuffing out of Scott Farkus.

"Oh, this is just too good!" Blaise cackled as he took out his neon-red cellphone with a skull decal on the back and started filming.

However, the P.I.C. Chairman's fun was cut short when he heard another knock at the door.

"Damn people interrupting my good time…!" Blaise angrily mumbled under his breath as he stormed towards the door. Though despite his rage, the P.I.C. Chairman could only groan and roll his eyes when he flung the door open and saw Gant and Lana, the former grinning his usual annoyingly upbeat smile and the latter looking like she was fighting the urge to run out into traffic with every fiber of her being.

"Hey Blaisie!" Gant chirped with an enthusiastic wave before peeking past his disgruntled childhood friend's shoulder upon hearing Manfred's screams and grunts from inside. "Are we late, or did you pull the 'invite Manny an hour early' trick again?"

"The only thing you're late for is seeing some mascot make von Karma her bitch! Come on!" The P.I.C. Chairman hastily replied as he gestured for the two law enforcers to enter the house, prompting them to follow him inside where Chloe was still going ham on Manfred while Sebastian's limp, unconscious body continued to lay sprawled out on the floor.

"Hey, Manny. Things going well?" Gant nonchalantly asked, pretending like nothing out of the ordinary was happening.

"What do _you_ think!?" The 'perfect' prosecutor roared, trying his hardest to flash the orange-cladded man a death glare while trying to guard his face.

"Well, looks to me like the third Thursday of every month back when I used to share an office with Lana!" Gant chuckled with a clap of his hands, earning a scowl from the Chief Prosecutor.

"Ha, ha. Very funny, Gant. Perhaps you could shower us with more of your wonderfully whimsical jokes _AFTER_ you get this insane girl off of me!" Manfred shouted as he tried in vain to push Chloe off of him.

"Sure thing, Manny. After all, what are friends for…? Lana, would you do the honor?" Gant politely asked as he directed his attention to his former coworker.

"And you can't do it because…?" The Chief Prosecutor bitterly responded.

"… You know, that's not very nice, Lana." Gant stated in a hurt tone as he flashed the scarf-wearing woman his infamous stare. "I just wanted you to lend a hand so that I could keep my suit nice for Sebby's special day. That, and I figured you'd be more eager to return the favor after I helped you and your sister get over Neil's tragic death…" The Chief of Police noted with a threatening undertone.

"R-Right." Lana nervously gulped, her eyes becoming saucer-sized for a brief second before reverting back to their usual stoic gaze. "I'm more than happy to help, Chief Gant."

With a sigh, Lana made her way over to Chloe and, after a surprising amount of resistance on the mascot's end, managed to tear her off of Manfred, restraining her in a headlock. Though despite this, Chloe continued to fight, thrashing and flailing in an attempt to free herself from the former detective's grasp. Seeing that this was going nowhere, Lana delivered a swift chop to the side of the mascot's throat, negating the padding of the adolescent's costume as she was rendered unconscious.

"D-Damn!" Blaise whimpered, his goggles filling with tears as he gloomily put his cellphone back in his pocket. "And just when things were getting good…"

"About time." Manfred grumbled, dusting himself off and straightening out his suit as he got back onto his feet before picking up his stun gun and returning it to his pocket.

"You're welcome." Lana snidely retorted as she gently seated Chloe's limp body on the couch.

"And just what's that supposed to mean?" Manfred asked with crossed arms.

"Manfred von Karma, the perfect prosecutor, doesn't know something…!?" Lana gasped, putting her hand to her cheek in an overdramatic fashion. "This is clearly a sign of the End Days!"

"Don't take that tone with me, girl!" Manfred roared and a snap of his fingers. "I was being rhetorical! If you actually think that you're worthy of _my_ appreciation, then you're almost as delusional as Greggory Edgeworth was!"

"I'm sooo sorry that I had the audacity to want some appreciation after saving you from getting your ass kicked." Lana wryly replied as she hoisted Sebastian's body and placed him on the couch next to his friend. "Is it too much trouble for you to say 'thank you'? What am I saying? You can't even bother to win a case without forging evidence, Mr. Forced-Confession."

"And the phone comes out again!" Blaise chirped in a sinister, eager tone as he whipped out his phone and started videotaping once more.

"Try saying that again after I-" Manfred yelled, pulling out his stun gun in an attempt to strike down his superior, only to be stopped by Gant rushing up behind him and grabbing his arms.

"Manny, Manny, she's not worth it!" Gant pleaded, using every ounce of his strength to hold back his childhood friend before directing his gaze over to his former coworker. "And Lana, please, for the love of all that's good in the world, apologize to Manny."

"Apologize? To _him_? If anything, he should be apologizing to me!" Lana angrily retorted.

"That may be, Lana, but this is Manny we're talking about. Getting him to admit to his mistakes is like trying to teach a brick wall to tap dance!"

"I do not make mistakes!" The 'perfect' prosecutor objected

'See what I mean? The concept of him being a human with flaws is one that Manny will deny until the day he dies. But can you blame him for what he did nearly 15 years ago? I mean, how would you like it if you did something underhanded for reasons you thought were just, only for someone to call you out for it and put a stain on your otherwise spotless reputation?" Gant asked, his voice shifting from patronizing to threatening.

"I-I wouldn't know what that's like since I'd never do anything of the sort to begin with, Chief Gant." Lana curtly responded with a hint of apprehension that she tried so hard to suppress.

"Really now…?" Gant mused before bursting out into laughter. "And here I thought that you youngsters were supposed to have better memories than old farts like me! I guess what they say about t.v. is true- it really does rot your brain! No matter, in order to help resolve this little conflict and calm Manny down, I think that it's only fair that I tell him about a time when _you_ weren't so honest, Lana…"

"You wouldn't…!" The Chief Prosecutor growled as she bit her thumb.

"Lana, look at me…" Gant stated as he flashed his former coworker his infamous stare. "Do I look like I'm bluffing…? But since I'm a nice guy, I'll give you one last chance to apologize to Manny before I tell him about a little incident that happened two years ago- a little something that I believe he'd be more than happy to make another perfect addition to his incredible record."

"Fine…" The Chief Prosecutor sighed with a tone of resignation, her shoulders slumped and gaze cast downward as the fight left her body. "I'm sorry for what I said, Prosecutor von Karma. I was merely overreacting."

"Obviously." Manfred smirked with a waggle of his finger as the Chief of Police released him. "Though I have to say, Skye, even though I hardly respect you, I can't help but feel amused by your situation- a 'noble' defender of justice who fought so valiantly for the truth becoming a lowly puppet to a man who's inhaled one too many whiffs of chlorine."

"Better chlorine than that starch you've been soaking those suits of yours in for the past 40 years, Manny!" Gant jovially chimed in with a clap of his hands.

However, the orange-cladded man's comment was completely ignored as Lana gaze narrowed, causing the room's atmosphere quickly becoming tense as the air seemingly began to chill.

"I am no one's puppet." Lana tersely stated in a low tone that was almost a growl.

While one could come to the conclusion that the Chief Prosecutor and Chief of Police didn't have a healthy working relationship based on how one-sided it currently was, it wasn't always that way. Why, just years prior, the two of them were known as the "Legendary Duo" due to how well they worked together. One of the biggest reasons for this was due to how both Lana and Gant shared many of the same traits- diligence, a strong sense of justice, and an ability to see the big picture, to name a few. But by far, the most noticeable trait that the two former detectives possessed was the ability to intimidate others without having to even say a word.

For Gant, he wasn't one to hesitate in using his height and muscular frame to his advantage. The second he entered a room, it would be immediately overwhelmed by his casual, yet stuffy aura- the kind of feeling you get when you're sitting in a doctor's office waiting for your checkup. Sure, you know that the doctor isn't out to get you, but you can't help but feel scared due to how they essentially hold your health in their hand. Though for some, Gant's aura was so overpowering that they could have sworn that the temperature actually increased, almost as if the former detective was roasting their very soul with his eyes and orange jacket.

Though while Lana lacked the Chief of Police's hulking frame, she didn't need such direct methods. No, for Lana, she preferred to use the power of contrast to her advantage- a tactic that worked wonders on numerous occasions. While the Chief Prosecutor was often a kind, motherly figure to her coworkers during her days as a detective, they knew better than to get on her bad side; for when she was angry, Lana was arguably worse than her orange-cladded partner. While an angry Damon Gant was no picnic in the park, at least people could brace themselves and have some grasp of the situation. After all, if someone sees a huge guy built like a refrigerator, they can piece together that things will not go well if they get on that person's bad side. However, no one would easily believe that a warm, sweet 5'6" woman with long, silky smooth hair and a svelte frame could practically turn a room into a tundra with her glare. And to make things worse, unlike Gant, who would just stay quiet for a few seconds and let his unfortunate victim reflect upon the error of their ways, Lana would take advantage of their apprehension and fear by unleashing wave after wave of logical points without mercy, not unlike the cold, howling wind of a blizzard on a cold snowy night.

However, while most people would simply be reduced to a whimpering, stuttering mess when faced with the Ice Queen Prosecutor's wintery gaze, Manfred was no regular person- he was a von Karma, and as a von Karma, he would be damned if he let this former detective triumph over him. And that was how things cranked up to 11.

"You're fooling no one, girl." Manfred sneered. "Even a mere defense attorney could easily deduce that Gant's pulling your strings. You always agree with him, no matter what ridiculous nonsense pours out of his mouth, you follow him around like a sick puppy, you constantly chauffer him around town like he's Miss Daisy despite the fact that he's perfectly capable of driving his own car…" The 'perfect' prosecutor stated, counting the reasons off on his fingers. "I even recall Gant renting you out one time to Debeste to clean his gutters!"

"Best ten bucks I ever spent, y'know." Blaise noted, trying his best to say as little as possible and resist the urge to make a thousand wise cracks in order to focus on filming.

"One, you and I both know that a conversation with Gant will either end with you agreeing with him or him pestering you until you do." Lana firmly retorted, raising a finger to emphasize her point before raising another. "Two, I'm the Chief Prosecutor and he's the Chief of Police. As such, we have to meet frequently in order to make sure this city doesn't fall apart- especially considering the bad press we've been getting due to the Redd White debacle last month. And three…" Lana hissed as she raised a third finger. "Gant did not 'rent' me out to Debeste. My car was in the shop and my little sister had a science fair that day that she was looking forward to for a good three months, so when Gant offered to drive us there after I told him my dilemma, I was more than happy to take him up on that offer. However, I wasn't expecting Ema to get there _after_ Gant decided to take a little 'detour' to 'visit' Debeste, and by 'visit' I mean pushing me out of the car while it was still moving and leaving me stranded there for three hours!"

"Now Lana, don't blow things out of proportion." Gant calmly stated with a hint of irritation as he glowered at his former partner with his infamous stare. "The car was barely moving."

"The broken arm I received that day and the layer of skin that practically became one with the street outside of this house beg to differ. Though speaking of which, thanks for 'healing' my wounds by rubbing that handful of salt you keep in your pocket on them, Debeste." Lana snarled, glaring daggers at the P.I.C. chairman who was barely fazed as he focused on capturing this wonderful moment that almost made him forget about the horrible reason why this party was happening in the first place.

"Don't mention it." Blaise nonchalantly replied with a wave of his hand. "When you become a parent, you develop certain instincts, y'know? Y'see, some moms dote over other people and try to take care of their needs, some dads try to give out fatherly advice, and I want to make everyone experience the same pain I feel when I have to see my idiot son's face every morning."

"See what I mean?" Manfred asked with crossed arms. "Gant pushed you out of a moving vehicle, wounding you in the process, yet you went right back to him and continue to lick his boots to this day. So what secret is Gant using to form the crossbar that pulls your strings? Could it be that you tried to cover up something that could prove fatal to your career if it ever became public…?"

Lana's eyes widened slightly.

"Or could it be that someone you know has committed a crime and you're trying to protect them…?"

Lana's breathing became marginally shallower.

"Or could it even be that, despite professing to using only fair and just means, you were so determined to convict a criminal that you forged evidence to convict them…?"

At this point, the Chief Prosecutor was using every fiber of her being to keep herself from having a panic attack. Those dreadful two years that she spent as Gant's puppet, all of the innocent people she had essentially sentenced to life in prison or worse, would be in vain in a matter of seconds as Manfred von Karma, the guy who never stuck his nose in these kinds of matters- one of the seldom redeeming qualities of Dracula's long-lost cousin- decided that now would be a good time to play detective and destroy her life. And to add insult to injury, this wasn't happening because Lana ended up in some huge legal scandal- at least then, the Chief Prosecutor could go down in a blaze of glory and take Gant and his cronies, Count Crapula and Makes-You-a-Ghost Rider, down with her- but because that egotistical undead-looking prosecutor couldn't take an insult after he refused to thank her after _she_ saved _him_ from a deranged mascot!

"But I'm no fool, girl." Manfred calmly continued. "While those three scenarios are possible, they are highly unlikely. One, when it comes to black marks on a chief prosecutor's career, they have the means of easily covering them up and keeping people- even the highest officials- from lording them over them. If that wasn't the case, then Gant would be using Debeste as a pool noodle for the past 40 years. Two, Gant is as subtle as a laser lightshow with blaring music in the middle of Times Square. If he was lording something that incriminating over your head, everyone in the legal world would have known about it the second it occurred. And three, frankly, I believe that you barley possess the aptitude to dress yourself in the morning, let alone actually cover up an incident as complex as forgery or the like…"

A sneer spread across the 'perfect' prosecutor's face as he proceeded with his line of thought, completely unperturbed as Lana glare intensified.

"After all, let's not forget that before being promoted to your current position, you were but a mere detective, someone whose sole purpose is to do the grunt work that is hardly worth the time and effort of a prosecutor. Take that scruffy one who follows Miles around like one of those pathetic three-legged dogs, Detective…" Manfred paused for a brief moment, his brow furrowed as he tried to remember the incompetent detective's name. "Gumball, I believe."

"Gumshoe, von Karma. The detective you're referring to is Detective Dick Gumshoe, a.k.a. someone you shouldn't be using as a baseline to judge detectives off of." Lana sternly replied with an icy stare. "Take Detective Badd, for example…"

"I know where this is going, Skye, and I will not stand to be reminded of it!" Manfred huffed.

"Well, that doesn't surprise me." Lana smirked. "After all, it must have been quite the shock seeing your precious record getting marred by a teensy, weensy little penalty thanks to a detective and a defense attorney. So with that in mind, I still find it hard to believe that you can be so condescending towards the former."

"Every dog has its day- even decrepit, old bloodhounds." The 'perfect' prosecutor curtly retorted. "Badd merely got lucky on account of the fact that he was working with a depraved defense attorney who was envious of my perfection and made it his life's goal to destroy it."

"In that case, maybe I should go in the other direction and bring up an example in which a detective _tried_ to help you, but yet you refused and ended up making an absolute fool of yourself."

"Don't be ridiculous, girl." Manfred stated with a finger waggle. "Nothing of the sort never happened and never will."

"Why, von Karma, are you starting to go senile?" Lana asked with mock surprise, putting a hand to her chest.

"Me? Going senile?" Manfred asked, trying his best to hold back his laughter. "If anyone in this room is going senile, it's you for forgetting that my memory is as perfect as everything else about me."

"Well, I only ask because I find it strange that you can't seem to remember that day back in May of 2008, when you and Gant were on that boardwalk…" Lana couldn't help but grin as the 'perfect' prosecutor reeled back, his eyes bugging out of his head as a few beads of cold sweat began to drip down his brow.

"I-I don't know what you're talking about." Manfred stuttered, trying his best to maintain his composure.

"Don't try to lie to me, von Karma. Gant told me all about your little experience on that fateful day- how you were so consumed with your ridiculous perfection fetish that you couldn't figure out that you were being scammed at some rigged carnival game until you lost $1,000, your shoes, your cane, and your car."

"You told her!?" Manfred roared. "Does a promise of confidentiality mean nothing to you heathen detectives!?"

"Now, Manny, don't be too hard on me." Gant replied with a look of remorse as he fiddled with his hair. "I only told Lana that story to help put her and her sister at ease after that whole Joe Darke incident in our office."

"Well, if you want to go around revealing secrets, then maybe _I_ should do the same by informing everyone in the legal world about what happened on that fateful night of February 19, 2015!" Manfred huffed.

"Manny, Manny, Manny…" Gant sighed as he shook his head. "Are you really going to resort to bluffing after Blaisie and I've had to spend countless hours over the years listening to your many, _many_ complaints about how defense attorneys are lowly vermin for doing the same thing?"

"Ugh! Don't remind me!" Blaise exclaimed.

"Are you insinuating that I don't know what I'm talking about and that I'm making things up, Gant?" Manfred snarled with crossed arms as he squeezed his bicep.

"Well, considering how you have no idea what actually happened, if your statements just now are anything to go off of, then yes." Gant stated matter-of-factly as he fiddled with his hair.

"Bah! As a von Karma, my logic is always perfect!" Manfred bellowed with a snap of his fingers. "Though even the most incompetent of defense attorneys could easily deduce that the reason why you're able to manipulate Skye is because she, against her better judgement, instigated a hot and steamy night of passion between the two of you and you've been holding it over her head ever since!"

"WHAT!" Lana shrieked, her eyes nearly bulging out her head as she took a clumsy step back and nearly falling over out of sheer shock.

"M-Manny…!" Gant sputtered with loosey clenched fists, his cheeks turning red as a few beads of sweat dripped down his brow.

"F&$# yeah!" Blaise cackled with a toothy grin, laughing to the point where his goggles were starting to fill with tears. "Best f&$#%#& party ever! Y'know, I don't care what strings I have to pull, you are _so_ getting a raise for that, von Karma!"

"I knew you were crazy the moment you tried to start a petition banning prosecutors from wearing their badges on their lapels, but _this_ …!" Lana hissed, raising a tense arm. "This is a whole new level of insanity! What on earth would give you the idea that I would ever sleep with _Gant_?!"

"Blows to my self-esteem aside, Lana makes a reasonable point, Manny. Don't get me wrong, she's an attractive woman and any man would be lucky to have her, but I'm not the kind of guy who gets turned on by having a fling with some who's young enough to be my daughter- or granddaughter if you want to push it." Gant stated as he fiddled with his hair. "Plus, you've known me for around 60 years, Manny. You know I'm not some sexual deviant like Blaise who sows his seed wherever and whenever the opportunity arises. So what made you come up with that theory?"

"If you must know, this is what happened…" The 'perfect' prosecutor smirked.

* * *

After wandering aimlessly around the precinct in search of Darke, you returned to your and Skye's office- probably to call for my help- where you found him lying unconscious on that unfashionable floor that Debeste commissioned, along with your former partner crying over the corpse of Marshall- who, by the way, deserved everything that happened to him after he stole _my_ award.

"Oh, Lawdy!" Skye exclaimed, her tear-filled gaze directed to the ceiling with the back of her hand placed on her forehead. "If we had only used common sense and put Prosecutor von Karma, the most perfect man to ever roam this here earth, in charge of this case instead of some loudmouthed cowboy, we wouldn't be in this mighty nasty predicament!"

"Now Lana, don't feel bad…" You said in a comforting tone as you sauntered over to your distraught partner, putting a firm, yet gentle hand on her shoulder. "How were we supposed to know that Marshall would try to foolishly fight Darke instead of using his cellphone to call in reinforcements? Plus, even if we did request for Manny to prosecute this case, there's a good chance that he wouldn't have been able to on account of him being busy with so many other cases from all around the world. Sure, Manny's the epitome of human intellect, class, and style, but that doesn't change the fact that he's only a single man."

However, even though you said those words with the sole intention of consoling, Skye had a much different interpretation… a much lewder interpretation.

"Oh, Gant…!" Skye moaned, fanning herself with her hand. "Your words… they're making me all hot under the collar like biscuits on the pan! Take me now, you big orange Adonis, you!" She commanded with much lust in her voice as she grabbed onto you, clinging to your chest like how a baby monkey does with its mother.

However, despite your typical carefree nature, you tried to uphold some degree of common decency by pushing your partner off of you. But that only served to make her want you even more as she stared up at you with eyes filled with sexual hunger.

"Please, Gant! I need this… I need you!" Skye pleaded.

"I'm sorry, Lana, but as much as I want to, I can't. If word of it ever got out, it could stain Manny's perfect reputation since I work with him so often. Now, I may not care much about what happens to me, but I won't allow anyone to potentially ruin the career of that perfect man- nay, saint!- on my watch!" You responded as you turned your back to your partner and began to walk away.

But being the stubborn woman that she is, Skye wouldn't take 'no' for an answer, abandoning all rationality and dignity as she clung to your leg and started crying at the top of her lungs like a newborn child, stopping you dead in your tracks.

"No, don't leave me! Please! I-I'm scared after that awful sight I had done witnessed and need a big, strong man to comfort me. And who better than one who works so closely with that handsome god of perfection Manfred von Karma!"

"I don't care how much you want it, Lana. My answer's still 'no', and there's nothing you can do to change that."

"Well, then how about this…" Skye purred as she got up off of the floor, wrapped her arms around your torso, and pulled you in for a heated kiss, her warm tongue forcing its way into your shocked mouth where it proceeded to wrestle with yours.

Sure, you probably tried to resist, but like all those who weren't blessed to be born with perfect von Karma genetics, your willpower was gradually worn away until you were willing to comply with Skye's demands as you started kissing her back. However, before things got too heated, you pulled away.

"What's the matter?" Skye asked with a concerned look on her face. "Did I do something wrong?"

"No, Lana." You replied with a shake of your head. "I just want to make one thing clear before we continue."

"And that is…?" She paused, cocking her head to the side in intrigue.

"I've placed a hidden camera somewhere in this office that's recording us even as we speak. As such, if we continue with this, then you're essentially agreeing to be my puppet, to do anything I ask of you until the end of time, lest I show the world the footage and destroy your reputation. So with that in mind, do you still want to go through with this?"

"Take me now, Gant! Make me feel like a woman!" Skye purred, standing on the tips of her toes as she nipped at your neck.

"Uh, are you sure about that, Lana? I mean, Darke just killed Neil here…" You awkwardly pointed out, gesturing to the corpse of that worthless prosecutor and the unconscious body of that criminal. "And what about your sister?" You added as you also gestured over to the girl as she lay passed out in a corner of the room.

"To hell with my sister! If she wakes up and asks, I'll say that we were hug-wrestling. And as for Neil, he'll probably be more useful as a mattress then he ever was a prosecutor." Skye hastily stated before forcefully pushing you to the ground and jumping on top of your chest.

* * *

"After that, you and Skye proceeded engage in coitus on Neil's corpse well into the wee hours of the morning. So Gant, is my reasoning perfect, or is it perfect?" Manfred smirked with outstretched arms.

"Sorry, Manny. Not even close. But that sure was an interesting story!" Gant chirped with a clap of his hands.

"Easy for you to say, Gant! That lunatic wasn't defaming your character by depicting you as some overemotional floozy who's willing to put out at a crime scene!" Lana objected, glowering at the Police Chief before directing her glare at the 'perfect' prosecutor. "And why did _you_ give me an over-the-top southern accent?"

"Hey, I call it as I see it." Manfred curtly retorted with crossed arms.

"Y'know, I don't care if von Karma's story's true or not. That's gonna be my new theory as to how Gant's made you his bitch for nearly two years. Y'see, shit like that's too good to disregard, y'know?" Blaise cackled as he emptied the tears from his goggles.

"But it's not!" Lana huffed.

A sneer spread across the P.I.C. Chairman's face as he turned off his cellphone and returned it to his pocket. "So Skye, if that story's true, you wanna take off your pants so I can rail you on top of my unconscious waste of sperm while von Karma and Gant cheer me on?"

"NO!" Lana roared at the top her lungs, her face blood-red from a combination of embarrassment and rage and her eyes filled with anger.

"Y-Y'know, maybe all those rumors that have been floating around the Prosecutor's Office about you being a bitch were true! " Blaise wailed, his goggles filling up with tears as he tugged on his fake beard. "Yelling at an old man like that… I-It brings a tear to my eye, y'know. M-Maybe if I had a hug, I would-" The P.I.C. Chairman whimpered, a sinister grin spreading across his face as he slowly walked over to Lana with outstretched arms, only to be stopped by Gant stepping out in front of him, his body acting as a barrier between the Chief Prosecutor and the morally-depraved public official.

"No means no." Gant sternly replied, flashing the P.I.C. Chairman his infamous stare as he firmly grabbed the man's shoulder. "Lana, if you want to leave, you are free to do so." The Chief of Police glanced back at his former partner as she quickly left the house without saying another word.

"What the hell, Gant!? Since when did you become such a buzzkill? You taking lessons on the side from von Karma or something?" Blaise snarled, a large pillar of flame erupting from his lighter as the orange-cladded man released his shoulder, earning an exasperated sigh and a roll of the eyes from Manfred.

"Look, Blaisie, normally, I'm perfectly content to sit back and let you do your thing. After all, it's only fair since you do the same for me and Manny, but I won't stand by and let you do that kind of thing to Lana. Sure, I may strong-arm her into running the Prosecutor's Office how we three see fit, accompanying me to places that I don't want to go to alone, and cleaning the dead raccoons out of my pool, but I don't do anything physical to her. See, when the exploitation is kept purely on a mental level, I can keep the evidence of it to a minimum. That way, if Lana ever feels bold and decides to snitch on me, it'll more or less boil down to my word vs. hers- a conflict that I'd most likely win since I've got that whole 'kooky, lovable grandpa' reputation working in my favor while Lana is, to put it bluntly, an ice witch. However, if things get physical, then things will be much harder to cover up and we could run the risk of at least one of us getting arrested. And if that were to happen, the synergy that we've established over the years thanks to our respective skills- my ability to control the Police Department and Prosecutor's Office, Manny's ability to control trials and investigations, and your ability to eliminate any problematic prosecutors- would be destroyed and the other two would quickly be convicted as well." Gant reasoned with a stern look on his face. "Plus, you know me. I may not be a saint, but I'm uncomfortable with those kinds of… activities."

"Fine." Blaise sighed in exasperation. "I won't do that kind of stuff to Skye anymore."

"Thank you." Gant chirped with a clap of his hands.

"Y'know, that really put a damper on my day." Blaise stated as he proceeded to play with his lighter. "Well, at least things can't get any worse. Unless, of course-"

However, much to the P.I.C. Chairman's disdain, it was at that moment that Sebastian finally regained consciousness.

"Ugh… What happened?" The naïve adolescent groaned, rubbing his head as he got back up on his feet.

"There it is..." Blaise growled as he glared daggers at his son. "Y'know, Sebastian, even when my day takes a massive nosedive into the shitter in a matter of seconds, you never fail to make it even worse. You truly are the best." Blaise snidely commented as he proceeded to play with his lighter.

"Thanks, Pops!" Sebastian chirped, his face beaming with pride as his father's sarcasm flew right over his head. "That's why they call me- Mr. Gant? When did you get here?" The naïve prosecutor asked in a shocked tone, his ahoge stiffening to resemble an exclamation point.

"Hey, Sebby!" Gant chirped with an excited wave. "Got here sometime after you were knocked out. By the way, what happened? Did your dad bet you five bucks that you couldn't punch yourself in the face for five minutes straight again?"

"No, Mr. Gant, Pops hasn't made that waver ever since I won that last one and he hit me in the head really hard with that folding chair." Sebastian whimpered, rubbing the back of his head as what few memories of that Fourth of July nearly a decade ago that he had briefly resurfaced in his mind. "This time, I was knocked out because Mr. von Karma hit with his taster!" The naïve adolescent wailed, tears streaming down his reddened cheeks as he pointed a shaky finger at the 'perfect' prosecutor, who merely rolled his eyes.

"Now that wasn't very nice, Manny." Gant stated in a patronizing tone with a stare to match. "I know that dealing with Sebby can be a bit… trying, but it's the boy's birthday, for Pete's sake!"

"Yeah!" Sebastian chimed in, tears still dripping down his face as he bent his baton.

"Don't you go acting like I am the villain here, Gant. I was being assaulted by that insane girl and was merely trying to defend myself when that boy foolishly decided to get in my way. You saw what she was doing to me when you arrived. It was an act of self-defense!" Manfred proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

"Oh right, Chloe!" Sebastian shrieked as he looked over at his unconscious friend, vigorously shaking her shoulder in an attempt to wake her up. "Chloe, Chloe! Please wake up!"

No response.

"She not moving! Mr. von Karma, you've gotta help Chloe!" Sebastian wailed, looking at the 'perfect' prosecutor with eyes filled with tears and desperation. "Use your taster to reaccelerate her!"

"One, the word is 'Taser', not 'taster'. And for your information, boy, this is a stun gun, not a Taser. A Taser can be used at a distance, whereas a stun gun needs to be utilized at close range in order to be effective. Notice how the tip of this device is perfect for jabbing into people." Manfred stated, taking out his weapon of choice for a brief moment for the sake of show before returning it to his pocket. "Two, I wouldn't waste the charge of my precious tool to help a girl who tried to attack me like some depraved defense attorney. And three, even if I _did_ want to help your friend, which I don't, it would be pointless considering that she will eventually regain consciousness. If you were able to survive getting hit with my tool of choice, then someone who was incapacitated with a mere chop to the neck- and wasn't even grazed with my stun gun- will undoubtable come out of this with little to no injury."

"Y'know, von Karma, from what I'm seeing, Sebastian seems to be a bit braindead after that little encounter with Ol' Zappy- the way he's mispronouncing words and that stupid look on his face…" The P.I.C. Chairman chimed in as he proceeded to play with his lighter. "Oh right, he was like that the second he was born. Never mind!" Blaise sneered.

"But what about Chloe?" Sebastian whimpered. "We have to do something to help!"

"Y'know, Sebastian, for once you said something that wasn't completely stupid. It must be a birthday miracle or something… von Karma, get that girl out of my sight and lock her in the broom closet down the hall next to the bathroom." Blaise nonchalantly ordered, gesturing to a nearby hallway devoid of any windows that was only dimly lit by the red glow of a few skull lanterns mounted to the walls. "Oh, and don't forget to take her shoes so I can sell them on the internet later.

"You're out of your mind, Debeste." Manfred curtly stated with crossed arms.

"I know it sounds a bit crazy, but there's a reason for it. Y'see, you'd be surprised how much girls' shoes sell for on the internet. I'm not talking five or ten bucks here, von Karma, I'm talking hundreds- even for dorky orthopedic clown shoes like the ones she's wearing. It's insane, y'know!" Blaise stated as he played with his lighter.

"I'm not talking about that, you overgrown bonfire!" Manfred snapped. "I'm referring to how you're ordering me, Manfred von Karma, the perfect prosecutor who has never lost a single case, to carry the body of an adolescent girl as if I'm some lowly butler!

"Well, maybe I wouldn't treat you like a butler if you didn't dress like Mr. Belvedere if he was trying to be a popsicle- cold and with a stick halfway up his ass." Blaise snidely retorted.

"He got you there, Manny!" Gant chuckled with a clap of his hands.

"Quiet, you lumbering piece of driftwood!" Manfred bellowed with a snap of his fingers. "Speaking of which, why don't you ask Gant to do it? After all, detectives are trained to act as the brawn to a prosecutor's brain." Manfred sneered.

"Simple. Y'see, even at my lofty position, it would take a great deal of planning to ruin Gant's career. After all, as police chief, he has authority and influence that debatably rivals even my own, y'know? But you're a different story, von Karma." Blaise smirked. "Y'see, as P.I.C. chairman and the guy who covered your ass for more than two decades when I was chief prosecutor, all I'd need to take away your badge would be a few forms and a quick look through my rolodex. So why don't you be a good little boy and drag that body off into the closet before I arrange it so that your badge moves out of your dingy pocket and onto my lapel."

"Fine!" Manfred snarled, glaring daggers at the P.I.C. Chairman. "I'll move the girl- but only because I want to have the satisfaction of throwing her unconscious body into a dark closet."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night, von Karma." Blaise cackled as the 'perfect' prosecutor bent down and picked up Chloe, hoisting her over his left shoulder like one would a bag of potatoes as he proceeded to walk towards the hallway.

However, like with numerous things in Manfred's life, this task was one thing that would not go by without a hitch as Sebastian ran out in front of him, his arms stretched out as wide as possible in order to prevent the veteran prosecutor from passing by.

"Step aside, boy." Manfred requested with an exasperated sigh.

"No! I won't let you do that to Chloe, you big bully!" Sebastian proclaimed. "And there's nothing you can do to change my mind!"

Without saying another word, Manfred lifted up his cane and jabbed the end of it into Sebastian's chest, causing the adolescent to fall to the ground back-first with a thud as his cries of pain filled the air.

"Ok, looks like my day's getting better once again!" Blaise sneered.

But just as Manfred was about to continue his way down the hall, Chloe regained consciousness. And to no one's surprise, the mascot's immediate reaction to being hoisted over the shoulder of a man who tried to taze her and was being carried off into the depths of a dark hallway to god-knows-where was to start slamming her hands into the 'perfect' prosecutor's back and flail her feet around in an attempt to free herself.

"Ow! Ow! Stop hitting me- ow!- you crazed- ow!- so that I- ow! That's it!" Manfred roared, throwing his cane back, allowing him to pull out his stun gun. "I- ow!- was trying to be- ow!- but now- ow!- I'm going to finish what _you_ sta-ow!"

Despite Chloe hitting him with her surprisingly strong slaps, Manfred wrapped his left arm around the mascot's waist as tightly as he could. Sure it wasn't exactly a painless experience, but compared to the agony that he felt- and was still feeling to this day- when he was shot on that fateful December day back in 2001, it was nothing- especially when the payoff was the satisfaction of finally zapping that uppity mascot. So with a mixed expression of rage and sadistic glee, the 'perfect' prosecutor activated his stun gun and prepared to strike his assailant with it.

"No, Chloe! I won't let him hurt you!" Sebastian yelled, jumping back up on his feet and quickly pushing Manfred's right arm as he was about to deliver the coup de grace, shifting the trajectory of the veteran prosecutor's attack in a way that caused the stun gun to hit him square in his own stomach.

As 600,000 volts of electricity coursed through his body, Manfred let out a guttural scream of agony as he struggled to remain conscious, his body swaying back and forth like an old tree in the wind, his eyes becoming glazed as his grip on Chloe gave out completely, allowing her to get back on the ground and run a bit into the darkness of the hallway in order to put some distance between herself and the vampire-like man who had it out for her. Of course, Manfred tried to fight through the pain, taking a slow, pained step towards the mascot, his right hand extended outwards and his stun gun active in an attempt to at the very least take his adolescent adversary down with him. But unfortunately for Manfred, before he could take another step, his strength gave out, causing his body to go limp as he fell forward, not unlike a tree that had been uprooted by a fierce storm. Though fortunately for Sebastian, in a rare display of competence, he quickly moved to the side, pressing his back against the wall in order to avoid being pinned under Manfred's body as the 'perfect' prosecutor's face hit the ground with a thud, his stun gun falling out of his now nonexistent grip and sliding forward a tiny bit into the hallway.

"Hey Chloe, are you alright?" Sebastian asked with a look on concern on his face, prompting his friend to rush over to him give him a bear hug. "I guess that's a yes then, right?"

Chloe nodded as she let go of the naïve adolescent, bouncing up and down on the tips of her toes out of excitement.

"Ok, now that von Karma's out, I think it's safe to say that this party's officially over." Blaise nonchalantly stated as he proceeded to play with his lighter. "So mascot girl, get out of my house, Sebastian, go do… whatever stupid stuff you plan on doing, and Gant, take von Karma and- What the hell do you want?" The P.I.C. Chairman growled with an irritated look on his face as Chloe raised her index finger before running over to the end table in the living room, grabbing the box that she had placed there earlier, and running over to Sebastian with it with her arms extended forward.

"F-For me?" Sebastian asked with a shocked look on his face, his ahoge forming into an exclamation point, to which Chloe responded with an excited nod as she pretty much jabbed the box into his chest.

With a slight bit of hesitation, Sebastian took the box and delicately opened it with the precision of a neurosurgeon. After all, from his past experiences, whenever someone gave him a gift- typically his father- it would hurt him in some way, shape, or form- a sweater full of itching powder, a punctured bottle of maple syrup that would get his hand really sticky, and that one horrible Christmas gift that forced him to his trademark wear gloves that he had been trying to repress for the past seven years, to name a few. Heck, the only good gifts that Sebastian ever received were those circle rope ties that always landed him in the guidance counselor's office when he would wear them to school.

But this gift was different. Inside the box were two items, a piece of paper that was neatly folded into a square and some rubber thing that resembled a face. Overcome with curiosity, Sebastian pulled out the latter, which was revealed to be a mask of Klavier Gavin's head that looked realistic to the point that some could argue that it was almost lifelike.

"Cool mask, Chloe! It looks just like Klavier!" Sebastian chirped, prompting the mascot to start excitedly clapping her hands. "Isn't this a cool mask?" The naïve prosecutor asked, holding up his present for the two public officials to see.

"Well, it's… something." Gant reluctantly stated as he fiddled with his hair, trying his best not to hurt anyone's feelings before leaning over to Blaise and whispering in the other man's ear. "I don't know about you, but that's just plain creepy. Should I have some officers keep a watch on that girl in the event she snaps, sneaks into your house, and tries to kill you and Sebby while you're both sleeping so that she can make masks out of your faces?"

"No need, Gant. Y'see, I'm a light sleeper and always have means of protecting myself. After all, when you're as important as I am, you never know when some loony's gonna try and make you disappear, y'know? And as for Sebastian, if this girl kills him, more power to her. Hell, I'll even send her a nice gift basket and a touching card." Blaise smirked, not caring what either adolescent thought as he made no attempt to hide his remarks.

Though both Sebastian and Chloe weren't listening to what the P.I.C. Chairman had to say as the latter pointed inside the box, gesturing to the letter inside as the former replaced it with the mask he was holding, unfolded it, and began reading its contents out loud.

 _ **Happy birthday, Sebastian! I hope that my best friend is having Debeste day ever! You deserve it- especially what happened on Monday with Klavier. It made my blood boil seeing that pompous pretty boy call you a crybaby and how you could never "reach his level of cool", only for him to start laughing when you began crying. GRRR! Why do assholes like that always have to pick on the sweetest, kindest souls?! It! Makes! Me! Sooo! MAAAD! Is it because they know you won't fight back? Is it because they're jealous of your family's prestige? Or is it because they're so insecure about themselves that they feel threatened when confronted with someone who's confident enough to express their emotions? Yeah, that last one's probably it. Knowing Popinjay Prissy-Princess Gavin's Apache attack helicopter mom, she probably babied him to the point where he doesn't know what to feel if she's not whispering it in his ear. Oh my gosh, I'm sooo sorry if I'm coming of as one huge rant, Sebastian! I don't want to ruin your big day with my personal venting about that fop!**_

 _ **No matter what anyone says, there's nothing wrong with you, Sebastian. You are a kind, caring person who isn't afraid to wear his feelings on his sleeve, and I wouldn't have it any other way. I still remember when we first met back during orientation week. I was sitting all alone in the back of the cafeteria, wearing the Camilla Chameleon costume from my time as the mascot back when I was in middle school while the other kids made fun of me, calling me things like "costume freak" and "lizard head". Sure, I had developed a thick skin for that kind of thing- I mean, when you spend three years wearing a costume that resembles Rango from that old film, 'Rango', if he had a blond bob cut and a pink sundress with white polka dots, you're going to get lots of comments- but it still hurt. I can't help it if I am terrified to my very core at the thought of taking off my mask, let alone speaking! So at that point, I thought that my time at Themis would be exactly like how it was at middle school- alone with no friends and my only positive interactions with other people being my performances at sports games and pep rallies… but then I met you. Unlike the others, you took an interest in me in a way that didn't involve insulting me, or pushing me over, or trying to steal my mask. Granted, it was because you thought I was really a lizard lady and you started crying for a good five minutes until I could convince you that I am indeed a human girl. Teehee! But even after that, you still took an interest in me, treating me like a friend. Not only that, but I love how brave you are when it comes to telling people how you feel- crying when you're sad, laughing with that cute "wa ha ha" laugh of yours when you find something is funny, and stating whatever's on your mind. I wish I had even a fraction of your confidence…**_

 _ **That's why I get sooo mad when I see jerks like Klavier putting you down! I just feel so helpless because even when I get them to back off, they just come back and make your life worse by insulting you for hanging out with "Creepy Chloe". UGH! I feel so guilty making you suffer because of my stupid anxiety! That's why I made you this Klavier mask. It's the least I can do after making your school life more difficult. So whenever Klavier starts talking smack about how you'll never be like him, put on that mask and make him put his money in that manhole that he calls a mouth!**_

 _ **Sorry if this letter's been turning into a novel about the house of horrors that is my inner thoughts! It's just that I have so much on my mind and writing's one of the few ways that I'm able to let it all out. Anyways, once again, I wish you Debeste birthday and many more!**_

 _ **Your friend,**_

 _ **Chloe Ernst**_

After reading the letter, Sebastian paused for a brief moment to reflect on the kind words used to describe him as tears started to form in his eyes. For once in his life, the naïve adolescent felt legitimately important.

"Chloe…" Sebastian whimpered. "This letter, it's-"

"A load of crap!" Blaise snarled, a pillar of fire erupting from his lighter as he shot Chloe a death glare. "Give me that letter!" The P.I.C. Chairman roared as he tore the piece of paper out of his son's hand and wasted no time in burning it to ashes with his lighter.

"What are you doing, Pops?!" Sebastian wailed as tears started to stream down his cheeks. "Why did you burn Chloe's nice letter?"

"Because I will not sit idly by and let some whore make up crap about my son!" Blaise roared.

"But Chloe wouldn't make that kind of stuff up! She's my friend!" Sebastian pathetically retorted as he bent his baton.

"And you believe her lies?" Blaise huffed in derision before proceeding to tug on his fake beard as his goggles started filling up with tears. "Y-Y'know, it's sad to see how easy it is to manipulate you. I-It's so pathetic, that- that it makes me wanna cry, y'know…" The P.I.C. Chairman whimpered as he emptied out his goggles and took out his lighter so that he could play with it. "Y'see, Sebastian, as your father, I know you better than anyone else in the world. I was there when you thought that two plus two was 22, I was there when you thought that computers could hold conversations, I was there when you tried to kiss a chocolate bunny in the hopes that it would become real, and I was there to witness even more examples of your blatant stupidity over the course of your pathetic life. So if I say you're worthless and stupid, then that's what you are, y'know? Y'see, you don't become as important as I am by being wrong all the time. So Sebastian, are you going to admit that your friend is making up crap, or do you doubt my abilities and intelligence?"

"N-No, Pops. I-I could never doubt you… Af-After all, you're Debeste!" Sebastian whimpered.

"You're damn right I am!" Blaise sneered.

"But still, why would Chloe make stuff up? It doesn't make sense."

"Of course it wouldn't make sense to an idiot like you." Blaise snidely retorted in a patronizing tone, adding insult to injury by lightly patting the top of his son's head. "But don't worry. Daddy will say it slowly and with little words so even you can understand: She… felt… sorry… for… you."

"What?" Sebastian asked with a confused look on his face, which his father responded to with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes.

"Even a freak like Creepy Chloe knows an idiot when she sees one, but like most people, she pitied you and decided to be your friend in order to help clear her own conscious. H-How dare you play with my son's feeling like that?" Blaise whimpered, his goggles once again filling with tears as he tugged on his fake beard. "It's mean to give someone undeserved praise and build up their confidence, only to have it ripped away from them when they learn the truth, y'know? Y-You should be ashamed of yourself!"

Feeling completely helpless, Chloe stomped her foot out of rage before running towards the house's front door, her hands covering her eyes as if she was crying.

"Wait, Chloe! Don't leave!" Sebastian wailed as he chased after his friends.

But alas, the naïve adolescent's pleas fell on deaf ears as Chloe rushed out the door, nearly slamming it in his face.

"And stay out!" Blaise shouted. "Ok, Sebastian, you've had a busy day today, so go to bed."

"But Pops, it's only 4:30 and I'm not tired!" The naïve adolescent whined.

"It's ten o'clock somewhere, y'know? And if you're having trouble sleeping, then maybe I can use von Karma's stun gun to help you out." Blaise snarled as he picked up the 'perfect' prosecutor's weapon and showed it to his son, whose posture immediately stiffened.

"T-There's no need for that, Pops. I-In fact, I'm so tired that I'm not even going to change into my jammies!" Sebastian stammered before frantically running off towards his bedroom.

"Too easy!" Blaise sneered as he dropped the lighter on top of Manfred's unconscious body before turning to face his orange-cladded friend. "Sorry you had to see that, Gant. Y'see, if I let Sebastian have self-confidence, he won't be as inclined to please me; and if he's not as inclined to please me, he won't be as easy to control; and if he's not as easy to control, he may squeal on us and give evidence to the wrong people and could potentially send us to jail. So it may seem cruel, but I'm doing this for the three of us, y'know?"

"Don't worry, Blaisie. I'm not judging you. Like I said earlier, you don't judge me and Manny, so I don't judge you when it doesn't involve you doing… physical things to people we already have under our thumbs."

"Oh, speaking of which, before you leave, you mind putting von Karma in the broom closet? Y'see, I don't want to be greeted with the ugly sight of corpse body and clothes every time I walk through this area until he wakes up."

"Will do, Blaisie!" Gant chuckled with a clap of his hands. "After all, what else are friends for?"

"Good, good." Blaise smirked. "If you need me, I'm gonna have a smoke and work on my hog. Oh, and feel free to stick around, watch some television, and help yourself to anything in the pantry."

"Don't mind if I do!" Gant chirped.

* * *

Thirty minutes of women's diving and two bags of jalapeno chips later, Gant was ready to leave. But before that, the Chief of Police had to drag Manfred's body into the closest. After all, a promise is a promise. So true to his word, Gant dragged the 'perfect' prosecutor by the feet over to the small closet, opened up the door, and shoved his friend inside before closing it up.

But before leaving, a mischievous smile spread across Gant's face as a sinister idea popped into his head which was too good to pass up. Gently placing the goat skull that was on a nearby end table gently on the ground, the Chief of Police propped the table up against the door in a way that prevented it from being opened from the inside.

"Let's see how your 'prosecutor's brain' gets you outta this one, Manny." Gant sneered, taking a moment to admire his handiwork before making his way to the front door while whistling an upbeat tune.

* * *

Eight hours later, Manfred finally regained consciousness, only to be greeted by absolute darkness.

"W-Where am I?!" The 'perfect' prosecutor asked in a startled tone as he frantically felt around the area in a frantic attempt to get a grasp on his location.

Fortunately, Manfred was able to calm down upon finding and turning on a nearby light switch to reveal that he was in a broom closet.

"Typical Debeste, shoving my unconscious body in a broom closet." Manfred grumbled. "At least that Neanderthal had the basic decency not to steal my shoes..." The veteran prosecutor noted as he looked down at his feet. "But wait, this arrangement could work to my advantage…" Manfred smirked. "Yes, given my location, Debeste has no way of knowing when, or if, I regained consciousness. Granted, that crocodile probably has this place monitored with some kind of hidden camera, but since he's probably being distracted by that grating son of his, he's most likely not watching the footage and is essentially giving me the element of stealth. So as long as the door is unlocked, I can potentially sneak out and escape from this hell of a 'party'."

So without wasting a single second, Manfred turned the doorknob, a smirk spreading across his face as it turned with no difficulty, only for the actual door to not open.

"What is this? Why won't this door open!? Debeste! Debeste! Open this door now! This isn't amusing!" Manfred roared as he repeatedly slammed his fist against the door. "I swear, Debeste, I will keep this up until you open this door and let me leave this dumpster that you call a home!"

And true to his word, the 'perfect' prosecutor continued to scream and pound on the door, his voice becoming louder, his pounding growing more intense, and his insults getting harsher and harsher with each passing minute, until Blaise finally removed the end table and opened the door nine hours later, greeting Manfred with a sneer before the perfectionist prosecutor pushed him aside and stormed out of the house as fast as his legs could carry him.


	5. Deworste School Dance

**A/N:** It's ALIIIVE! *proceeds to laugh manically while lightning flashes in the background* It's finally here, the fifth chapter of _Debeste of Friends_ , and let me tell you, it was quite the battle writing this chapter. As you can see by the word count, this is the second longest thing I have ever written for this site, only being beaten out slightly by the finale of _Pick Your Poison!_ , on the grounds that there was so much that I wanted to do in this chapter.

But despite all the writer's block, a number of plot points that had to be rearranged and/or cut out for the sake of trying to keep this chapter as short as possible, and overall fatigue, knowing that this chapter, this labor of love, is finally done has made it all worth it.

So with that in mind, I want to thank you all for being so patient with the slow upload rate for these chapters. You're all Debeste readers a guy could ask for, and I hope that you enjoy the latest chapter of _Debeste of Friends_!

* * *

"I swear, why does Debeste always make us come to this 'restaurant' whenever he has bad news? To rub figurative salt in whatever wounds he inflicts after throwing literal salt in our eyes?" Manfred grumbled with crossed arms as he scanned his surroundings with a scowl before taking a sip of his Sprite.

The restaurant was your standard sports bar with semi-dim lighting, several large flat screen televisions scattered throughout the place- all of which were blaring different sports games at a volume that made having a conversation a challenge-, and an area for typical bar sports- foosball, pool, ping-pong, etc. Though the most noticeable aspect of the restaurant was its servers- young women in their mid-20s with silky, luscious hair, curves in all the right places that were emphasized thanks to their short green miniskirts, and ample, perky bosoms that were barely covered by their low-cut white tee-shirts which had a picture of two round watermelons placed next to each other.

"Now, Manny, Melons isn't all that bad." Gant grinned as he clasped his hands together.

"Easy for you to say. Your hearing's already shot from years of deafening yourself and everyone in a five block radius of the precinct with that blasted cacophony machine that you call an organ. So you don't have to deal with the torturous combination of the 30 plus sports games that are being played simultaneously, as well as the 'riveting' conversations of the regular customers." Manfred huffed, gesturing over to the bar area where Detective Bruce Goodman- who looked like he was forced to be here if the disgruntled look on his face as he sipped at his glass of lemon water was of any indication- was having what appeared to be a discussion with a muscular guy of around six-and-a-half feet in height who could only be described as a hulking behemoth of a man.

"BROOOOO!" The man roared at the top of his lungs, flexing his muscular arms- which were more akin to logs of meat packed with small boulders than actual limbs- to the point where his red polo shirt that had a prosecutor's badge pinned proudly on the lapel was close to tearing. "Lemme tell you something, bro, no boxer could ever hold a candle to Jay Elbird! The guy's got agility, a mean right hook, and the mass of a herd of bears! Hell, that's why they had me prosecute him two months ago on the grounds of killing his wife with that screwdriver! They were jealous and set him up! But what could I do? If I don't prosecute, I can't make money, and if I don't have money, how can I maintain this perfect bod of mine? It just ain't right, I tell ya! It ain't riiiiight!" The man yelled, slamming a large ham-sized fist down on the bar's counter, causing the wooden surface to slightly crack.

"Yeah, yeah…" Bruce despondently sighed before taking another sip from his drink.

"What's wrong, Brad?" The muscular man asked, giving the detective a hard slap on the shoulder. "You getting tired of that girly drink, or are you just tired of those girly arms of yours? 'Cause if it's the latter, I don't blame you. No offense dude, but those things look like twigs. What are you, one of those sissy soy boys who shops at those hippy-dippy grocery stores like Trader Moe's and Pure Foods?"

"Do you want to know what I am, Prosecutor Newman? I'm tired!" Bruce snapped. "I'm tired of you always dragging me to this seedy bar; I'm tired of you always saddling me with the bill for the overpriced food here by claiming that you'll pay, only to leave to 'use the bathroom' and never come back; and I'm always tired of being paired up with _you_ of all prosecutors!"

"Brad…" Newman growled as he flashed the smaller detective an intimidating leer.

"And another thing: My name is Bruce, not Brad, Bruce; B-R-U-C-E, Bruce! I don't care if 'Chad and Brad rolls better off the tongue'…" Bruce snarled before facepalming. "I swear, sometimes, I'd rather get paired with Prosecutor von Karma! Sure, the guy may dress like a vampire and has all the warmth of an icicle, but at least he uses people's actual names and doesn't constantly try to pester them into letting him train them in his garage gym!"

"I'm right here, Goodman!" Manfred yelled with a snap of his fingers, glowering at the white-cladded detective as Gant started chuckling, only for his objections to fall on deaf ears.

"OOOH! You did _NOT_ just diss the Brojo!" Chad roared, slamming his fist on the bar's counter once again and enlarging the previously-formed crack before getting in the detective's face. "What? The Brojo isn't good enough for you, bro? You think you're better than the Brojo? 'Cause you're not! All of history's greatest bros had their own brojos- Arnold Schwarzenegger, Chuck Norris, Spartacus! Hell, why do you think Elbird got to be the King of the Ring? Girly vitamins and minerals? Nah… It was _aaall_ brojo, bro… All brojo."

"Ah, so _that's_ where Elbird got all of those steroids? Now it all makes sense." Bruce snidely responded, eliciting a primal yell from the behemoth prosecutor.

"YOU LIIIIIIIIIIE!" Chad screamed at the top of his lungs, his chest puffed out as he flexed his large muscles.

"Look at the facts, Newman: the guy's abnormally ripped, he had a history of assaulting random people for minor grievances such as bumping into him, and when he was arrested for murdering his wife, the first-responders found him punching a car shirtless before pushing it off the road. And if I recall correctly, earlier that evening, Elbird lost a fight and yelled 'Cameras making Jay mad!' when some reporters were trying to get a post-fight interview with him."

"Shut your goddamn mouth, Brad!" Chad shouted, jabbing a finger into the detective's chest and nearly causing him to fall back off of his barstool as a result. "Jay Elbird would never, EVER take steroids 'cause he's a real bro! He's not some girly man like Gutsen Brawn who goes down in the first round! He's a man's man who's like the ocean- hitting hard and packing a sea cucumber the size of a baseball bat!"

"Actually, according to Elbird's wife, his 'sea cucumber' was more akin to, and I quote, a 'broken baby's first accordion' if the argument that his neighbors heard between him and her on the night she was stabbed in the throat with that screwdriver was anything to go by."

"THAT'S IT!" Chad roared as he sprung to his feet, his nostrils flaring as he grabbed Bruce by the collar of his shirt and lifted him up out of his seat with a single arm. "It's time you flew with Air Ass-Kick, peewee!"

Like a pitcher getting ready to throw the final ball in the game, the meathead prosecutor reared back the arm that he was holding Bruce in, completely ignoring the detective's efforts to free himself from his grip by thrashing and wriggling about like a fish out of water, before snapping it forward with tremendous force and sending Bruce soaring through the air towards the tables. Of course, as luck would have it, out of all the places the airborne detective could land, his back crashed right into the side of Manfred and Gant's table, knocking the wind out of him and causing the 'perfect' prosecutor's Sprite to spill into his lap.

"Not again!" Manfred screeched as he sprung up from his seat, looking down at his moist crotch area in utter disbelief before glaring daggers at the other prosecutor. "You boisterous, uncouth… BEAST! It's bad enough that I have to hear you blaring obnoxious country songs about guys trying to pick up girls in their new Chevy and about mix tapes having a little Hank and a little Drake- whatever that means- whenever I have the misfortune of working at the Prosecutor's Office at six o'clock in the evening despite our offices being separated by three floors, but this… _THIS_ is where I draw the line!" The 'perfect' prosecutor bellowed with a snap of his fingers.

"Oh, you did not just insult my Florida Georgia, old man!" Chad shouted, pounding on his chest like a gorilla as he strode over to the other prosecutor's table, making sure to puff out his chest and emphasize his rock-hard pecs with each step.

"I just did, and I'm more than happy to do it again." Manfred retorted with crossed arms as he squeezed his bicep, the venom in his voice still present despite his tone becoming calmer. "Florida Georgia's music is mindless and devoid of substance, created purely to pander to the lowest rungs of society, which primarily consists of defense attorneys and _you_."

"Oh, and what counts as quality music in your dusty, old book? Some hunchback guy from a billion years ago playing some slow, sad song on his organ and singing in Latin or some other girly language about how he's sad and alone?" Chad scoffed with a sneer on his face, which quickly disappeared upon noticing that Gant had gotten up from his seat and was flashing the meathead prosecutor his infamous stare.

"… Now, Newy, that's not very nice..." Gant scolded in a cold, patronizing manner. " _I_ happen to feel that organ music is quite soothing. Is there something wrong with that?"

"N-No, Chief Gant. I didn't mean any disrespect to you, bro. Any music a swole guy like you listens to is A-Okay in my books." Chad nervously answered, raising his hands up and taking a step back.

"Well, in that case, why are you insulting Manny?" Gant asked as he fiddled with his hair. "Sure, Manny's about as cheerful as a storm cloud, but he's still my friend, and when you insult my friends, you insult me."

"W-Well…" Chad scratched the back of his neck, his gaze directed at the ground as he tried to think of what to say while also avoiding eye contact with the orange-cladded law enforcer. "It's just that von Karma pushed me too far, and you know how I get when people push me too far. My anger takes hold of me and I say things that I don't really mean, bro."

"In that case, apologize to Manny." Gant sternly stated.

"I'm… I'm sorry, von Karma." Chad reluctantly responded as he rubbed the back of his neck. "We cool?"

"We most certainly are not 'cool'!" Manfred snapped as he slammed the end of his cane on the ground. "Because of you, my day has been made all the worse on account how my groin is now soaked and freezing! Why, I have half a mind to-"

"Manny…" Gant flashed his childhood friend his infamous stare.

"Fine, I forgive you, Newman- but only because Gant won't stop bugging me until I do." Manfred growled.

"In that case, let's seal the deal, bro!" Chad chirped, grabbing the 'perfect' prosecutor's hand with his own meat mit before giving it a forceful shake, releasing it, and ending things off with a fist bump. "And to prove that we're bropasetic, I'm giving you both the privilege to stop by my house at any time and use the Brojo to your heart's content."

"Oh, joy. Now I can spend my evenings working out in a garage that probably reeks of AXE body spray and Mountain Dew- something I've been fantasizing about since the days of my youth." Manfred snidely commented with a roll of his eyes.

"That's the spirit, bro!" Chad exclaimed, completely oblivious to his coworker's sarcasm as he gave the other prosecutor a firm slap on the back. "And to make things even better, if you bros stop by the Brojo and I'm there, I'll personally train you 'til you can grind cheese on your abs and pulverize tomatoes with your thighs- makes for one hell of a chili!"

"Wait, didn't you make chili last year for the Fourth of July picnic…?" Gant asked with a concerned tone, a look of nausea briefly forming on his face as he recalled how he had three bowls of the stuff.

"Don't worry, bro! I made sure to take a bath right before making my signature bro chili!" Chad beamed.

"And to think that you mocked me for not desiring to partake in the food line…" Manfred smirked with a finger waggle. "But back to the previous subject, if I ever plan on working out, then I will do so alone without any assistance. After all, I am Manfred von Karma, the perfect prosecutor!" The veteran prosecutor proclaimed with a snap of his fingers. "I can do anything!"

"Fine with me, bro! As long as you work your core and avoid girly things like cardio and yoga, we're all good. And you, Gant? You wanna be rad with a little training session from Chad?"

"Thanks for the offer, Newy, but I don't feel right working out in a place that doesn't have a pool. So I think I'll just stick to swimming at my place and the Y for the time being." Gant chirped.

"Right on, bro! That's where Jesus lives! Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go use the bathroom." Chad stated before walking away from the table and past the nearby men's room, opting instead to exit through the front doors. Soon after, the roar of a large engine could be heard from outside the restaurant, only to immediately be replaced by the sound of screeching tires which stopped as quickly as it started.

Almost immediately after the hulking prosecutor left, the doors to the restaurant were thrust open with great force, slamming against the wall with a slam before shutting as Blaise, with a scowl on his face, stormed into the building, slapping the toned rear of the young hostess as he walked past her, stopping only to scan the area. Though upon spotting Manfred and Gant, the P.I.C. Chairman stomped over to their table with clenched fists, not unlike an angered child, pulled out the chair, turned it around so that the back was facing the table, and sat down, leaning forward so that he could rest his elbows comfortably on the table's polished wooden surface while propping his jaw up with his right fist.

But before either Manfred or Gant could ask about why their depraved friend was looking uncharacteristically forlorn, Blaise directed his attention to the prominent wet spot on the former's crotch.

"Just- Just great!" Blaise whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears as he tugged on his fake beard. "Y-Y'see, I came here so I _wouldn't_ be remind of my stupid good-for-nothing spawn!" The corrupt chairman proceeded to empty his goggles before playing with his lighter. "So what happened, von Karma? Drink too much blood out of your gold jewel-encrusted goblet and couldn't get to the bathroom in time?"

"Objection!" Manfred yelled. "For your information, Debeste, my drink was spilled onto my lap thanks to an airborne detective."

" _Suuure_ , von Karma…" Blaise sneered with a roll of his eyes. "Just like last week when Sebastian told his school's nurse that 'a raincloud formed in his pants'- his stupid words, not mine. Y'know, I'm remotely tempted to thank you, von Karma, since you helped to brighten up my day- Lucifer knows I need it after what that little orgasm-gone-wrong did…" The corrupt chairman said with an exasperated sigh.

"What did Sebby do, Blaisie?" Gant asked with a concerned look as he fiddled with his hair. "Did he try to put your money into an offshore account again by flushing your wallet down the toilet and hoping that it would go into the ocean?"

"I _wish_ it was my wallet being thrown down the shitter by a little shit stain." Blaise growled as he flicked at his lighter in an attempt to get it to light. "Y'see, here's what happened…"

* * *

 **One Hour Ago…**

With Justine, a new judge with one month of experience under her belt who Blaise appointed to the P.I.C. because of her exceptional skills… among two other things, living up to her reputation by taking care of some of the more tedious tasks on his plate without a hitch- filling out paperwork, handling investigations for unimportant prosecutors, picking up his dry-cleaning, etc.-, the corrupt chairman's workload was greatly reduced and he could devote himself to his favorite pastime: ruining lives. And that's exactly what Blaise was doing as he sat back in his new red leather office chair, taking a brief moment to rub the bones running down the length of the chair's arms and the two skulls attached to the ends that were made of the actual remains of his enemies, before going back to the task of covering up his many, many illegal activities by burning document after document with his trusty lighter while singing his own sinister version of _This Little Light of Mine_ to himself.

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die!_

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die!_

 _Flame that burns is the flame of hate,_

 _Causes love to suffocate,_

 _Benefits me,_

 _And tortures you,_

 _Shows you what Blaise Debeste can do._

 _My flame brings both pain and tears,_

 _Not to mention, grief and fear._

 _Y'see, kindness makes my stomach churn,_

 _So I sit back and watch it burn!_

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die!_

 _Monday,_

 _I woke up with scorn and rage;_

 _Tuesday,_

 _I released a plague;_

 _Wednesday,_

 _I stabbed my son with a stick;_

 _Thursday;_

 _I Kidnapped a girl like a dick;_

 _Friday,_

 _I obfuscated my deeds;_

 _Saturday,_

 _I disposed of all leads;_

 _Sunday,_

 _I really start to yearn,_

 _To let my little flame burn!_

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _This little flame of mine,_

 _Will cause the truth to die._

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die,_

 _It'll die!_

 _It'll die!_

 _It'll die!_

 _It'll die!_

However, that moment of joy quickly came to an end when Blaise was startled by the sound of a crying baby blaring from his cellphone- the ringtone that he had assigned to Sebastian's number, as well as a picture of Michael Jackson dangling his baby over a balcony with Sebastian's face Photoshopped on top of the infant's body- abruptly putting an end to his good day and mood as he took out his phone from his pocket and answered it.

"Hey Pops, guess what?" Sebastian asked in his typically naïve tone, completely oblivious to his father's low growls of disdain.

"You decided to ride that dumb tricycle of yours off of a cliff?" Blaise snidely asked.

"Why would I ride Try-kai off a cliff, Pops? Bikes can't fly!" Sebastian stated with a tone of pride, almost as if he was teaching his father some groundbreaking fact. "And I should know considering what happened that one time I rode Try-kai off our roof after you told me that's what all the cool kids do. So try again."

"No!" Blaise snapped.

"C'mon, Pops! Guess!" Sebastian demanded in a whinny tone. "Guess what I'm gonna be doing tonight! I'll even give you a hint: it's something that'll happen at my school."

"Y'know, Sebastian, I'm not really all that sure." Blaise stated matter-of-factly as he played with his lighter. "After all, you're _sooo_ capable and have so much going on in your life, but y'know, I'll take a crack at it. Is it… me riding my hog over to your school in the next ten minutes, barging into whatever special-ed class you're in, and beating you over the head with one of those old-timey overhead projectors until you stop breathing?" The P.I.C. Chairman snarled, causing his son to gulp upon realizing that he was treading on thin ice.

Sure, Sebastian was typically a blissful, happy-go-lucky kid who tried to see the good in people and do his best at whatever he did, even if he was a bit clueless at times. However, when Blaise would make death threats in that hate-filled tone, even the scatterbrained aspiring prosecutor, in all of his naiveté, knew to back away, lest his father actually comes through on those threats.

So out of legitimate fear for his well-being, Sebastian proceeded to pick out his next words as carefully as he could- well, at least as carefully as he was capable of.

"W-Well, no, Pops." The naïve adolescent nervously replied. "Actually, since it's Halloween, my school's holding a big costume dance, the Great Pumpkin Ball. Originally, I wasn't going to go since we have that family tradition where you make me ride around the neighborhood on Try-kai wearing only a dirty diaper that you got from a dumpster until I get all of the kit-kats and butterfingers, but just a few minutes ago at lunch, Chloe gave me a note asking if I would go to the Great Pumpkin Ball as her date and I said yes."

"What…?" Blaise asked, his eyes becoming saucer-sized out of shock. "Y-You're dating… t-the mascot? The P.I.C. Chairman whimpered, pulling on his fake beard as tears filled his goggles.

"That's right, Pops. I got a date! Now you can't make jokes about me having no game!" Sebastian joyfully exclaimed.

"I can't believe it…" Blaise gasped under his breath, slamming his elbow on his desk and resting his forehead on his open palm.

"Well, believe it, Pops. In fact, Chloe and I are planning as going as a famous legal couple. I'm dressing as that Diego Armando guy that was poisoned in the courthouse a few years ago and Chloe's going as that Mia Fey lady who Mr. White killed last month.

"I-I can't believe it…" Blaise repeated, still in shock over the fact that this nightmare was a reality.

"I know, Pops. I would have rather dressed as you and Chloe goes as one of the girls who you bring over to the house all bound and gagged to play Cops and Robbers with in the basement, but Chloe insisted on going as Mia Fey because she's her hero. She didn't really go into a lot of details as to why some random defense attorney would be her hero when she knows who you are, but I went along with it because I'm a kind and Gentile man. Plus, those two are somewhat worthy of the privilege of being costume ideas for the Debeste. I mean, my Courtroom Etiquette teacher, Professor Pireanza, is constantly talking about how great Armando and Fey are. Not to mention, that Fey lady has to have some merit if you keep a photo of her dead body in that folder in your desk labeled XXX-69, along with ones for some girls named Valarie Hawthorne and Cece Yew."

"What did I tell you about rummaging through my desk!? Why, I oughta-" Blaise roared, a large pillar of flame erupting from his lighter, only to immediately stop himself.

Sure, Blaise was furious beyond belief at the little moron for not only having the audacity to go to a dance with some freak mascot girl who left him stuck in a vending machine, but also snooping through his desk and touching all over his… special photos with those grubby, sticky hands of his. However, the P.I.C. Chairman wasn't his son. He was no fool and knew that the best way to solve this problem wasn't through blind rage and brute force, but rather through cunning, manipulation, and good old-fashion making people disappear. Y'see, if Blaise played his cards right, not only would he be able to solve his Creepy Chloe problem once and for all, but he'd be able to do so without no one being none the wiser.

So with a deep breath, the corrupt public official calmed himself down as he prepared to execute the brilliant plan that was quickly taking shape in the hellscape of his mind.

"Y'know, Sebastian, on second thought, that's not really worth getting angry over." Blaise nonchalantly stated as emptied the tears out of his goggles.

"It's not?" Sebastian gasped, surprised that his father was being forgiving for once.

"Of course not- not when there's something else that's way more pressing."

"And what's that, Pops?"

"Your costume, Sebastian. Y'see, while that Diego Ar-man-do guy may have appeared to be galliant and charming, that's pretty much all he was. Y'see, from what I heard, Ar-man-do would come into the courtroom with some smug grin on his face, sipping his coffee without a care in the world and wouldn't even try to win cases, y'know? He'd just sit back and only argue against the prosecution when it was convenient for him, only grabbing for the lowest-dangling fruits of contradictions, y'see? Hell, the guy was so careless that he couldn't even watch his coffee cup for five seconds when he was talking to some psycho black widow. Do you want to be associated with that kind of slacker?"

"Of course not, Pops! I'm the best, and the best can only be the best when they try really, really hard and do their very, very best."

"That's what I thought." Blaise sneered. "After all, you're my son, and no son of mine's anything less than the best of the best at any aspect of life- academics, sports, getting girls, and even costumes."

"Then what should I do, Pops?" Sebastian asked in a distraught tone, sounding like he was on the verge of crying. "Chloe really wants to dress up as Mia Fey, but I don't want to go as some slacker!"

"Simple, Sebastian. Go as Gant."

"Really, Pops? But Mr. Gant was just a detective, and you're always telling me that detectives are just there to make prosecutors look better, like how Robin is with Batman, or how Mr. von Karma is with you."

"True, most detectives are glorified filing cabinets with legs and arms, but Gant's not most detectives. Y'see, when Gant was a detective, he was the best of the best. That's why von Karma and I would try to work with him whenever possible, y'know?"

"Really?" Sebastian responded with hope in his voice.

"That's right. You don't become the chief of police if you're not the best, y'know? Plus, Gant's got a great sense of humor, y'see, _and_ he banged at least three chicks in the ocean at night this last August."

"Mr. Gant shot three girls in the ocean?!" Sebastian gasped in a tone of terror. "That's tenable! I don't wanna dress up like someone who kills girls in the ocean!

"Gant didn't kill anyone, Sebastian. Y'see, it's only an expression…" Blaise groaned with an exasperated sigh. "Y'see, it means- y'know, forget it. I'll tell you later."

"Ok, Pops, that solves my costume problem, but what about Chloe? She wants us to go as a couple, and I don't think that Fey lady was in a relationship with Gant. Is Mr. Gant dating someone?"

"Unfortunately, you're out of luck in that department, Sebastian. Y'see, Gant's a free spirit who can't be tied down by any woman. But that doesn't mean that you and your mascot girl can't make it work, y'know? Y'see, Gant may not be dating anyone, but his partnership with Lana Skye when he was a detective was famous throughout the legal world. Not to mention, if your little friend admires Mia Fey like you say she does, then she'll have no problem going as Skye since she and Fey were, as I hear, 'intellectually attracted' to one another."

"Intellectually attracted? What does that mean, Pops?"

"Y'know, I don't really know. Y'see, from what I found by searching the web, it's when someone's attracted to another person not because of their looks, but because of their intelligence. It's basically how ugly girls and people like you find love, y'know?" Blaise sneered.

"Ah, _that_ explains why Chloe asked me out; as well as why all of my teachers have told me that having me as a student was an experience!" Sebastian chirped.

"That's right, Sebastian. Your mind's quite the intriguing thing, y'know?" Blaise snidely responded. "Now be a good boy and tell you creepy little mascot friend about your new costume plans before she starts getting any more dumb ideas."

"Will do, Pops!" Sebastian jovially responded before ending the call.

Without a single moment of hesitation, Blaise dialed a number on his cellphone and, after a few seconds of waiting, started talking to the person on the other end.

"Hey, Bruto. You mind if I borrow two of your family's vans…? Yes, it's for the usual thing… No, I won't be leaving behind any bloodstains this time… Or any other stains. Geez, t-that was one time and it was so long ago, y'know…?" Blaise whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears as he tugged on his fake beard. "Fine, if there are any messes, I'll get the van cleaned." The P.I.C. Chairman said with an exasperated sigh and a roll of his eyes before emptying his goggles. "'Cause God forbid your granddaughter feels the slightest bit uncomfortable seeing one of my special stains."

* * *

"A-And that's what happened…" Blaise whimpered, his goggles filling up with tears as he pulled on his fake beard. "M-My idiot son is going on a date with his freak friend!"

"I'm sorry if I'm coming off as a bit slow here, Blaisie, but how's this a bad thing?" Gant asked as he fiddled with his hair. "If anything, you should be elated that your boy's done something right and attracted a girl. Heck, I always thought that Sebby's first date would be you importing one of those mail-order brides, just like what you tried to do for Manny that one time."

"Don't remind me of that horrible incident!" Manfred snarled as he flashed the Police Chief a death glare.

"I'm not against the idea of Sebastian dating, y'know." Blaise nonchalantly stated as he played with his lighter. "In fact, I would be proud of my idiot son for once if he followed in my footsteps by conquering nearly every hot woman who crosses his path. But y'see, this isn't like that." Blaise sighed, shaking and clicking his now-malfunctioning lighter to get it to work. "Y'see, instead of my son dating some hot cheerleader, the school's queen bee, or even a girl with a decent face, an ok bod, and a big ass that jiggles like Jell-O like Lana Skye, he decided to go with the fuggly, mute, freak mascot and embarrass me more than he already has!" The P.I.C. Chairman yelled as a large pillar of flame erupted from his lighter. "Y'know, I didn't spend over 60 years screwing people over and leaving only pain and misery in my wake, building up my legal empire and effectively ruling over this city with an iron fist, all so my retard son could tear it all down by literally scrapping the bottom of the dating barrel!"

"Now Blaisie, that's not nice." Gant said with a stern look on his face. "For all you know, under that mask, Chloe could be quite the looker."

"Yeah, she's a looker alright- looks real ugly!" Blaise vehemently retorted. "Y'see, Gant, everyone knows that the hotter a girl is, the less she wears- the girls here…" The P.I.C. Chairman gestured around him as the serving girls continued on with their tasks, slapping the rear of one who was passing by the table. "rocking bod, skimpy outfits; that Fey girl who was on White's case, dressed like a woman of the night- something I know well since my ma was an escort; little von Karma when she was 13. Sure, she may wear more layers nowadays, but that's only because she was raised by Papa Orlok here." Blaise pointed a thumb at Manfred. "Need any other examples of why hot girls don't wear masks, 'cause I've got plenty to spare, y'know?"

"But what if the girl's just really socially awkward?" Gant suggested.

"Look at von Karma- he's got all the social awareness of a wolverine, yet you don't see him wearing a mascot costume. And trust me, he'd be doing us all a favor if he did." Blaise retorted. "Plus, this is a girl who wants to date Sebastian, the moron who thought that 'going out' with someone meant literally stepping outside with them until about a few months ago. So this Chloe bitch is either really ugly, really stupid, really crazy, or- my personal guess- all three upped to 11!"

"Typical overdone vampire insults aside, I'm going to have to agree with Debeste on this one, Gant." Manfred stated matter-of-factly with crossed arms. "Any person who decides to study to become a defense attorney is clearly out of their mind!" The 'perfect' prosecutor proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

"Not to mention, she beat you up, Manny." Gant chuckled with a clap of his hands.

"She did not beat me up!" Manfred objected as he squeezed his bicep. "She merely caught me off guard and overwhelmed me."

"Which resulted in her beating you up." Gant said with a grin.

"Alright, enough talking about how von Karma got his ass handed to him by some social outcast who actually finds my son desirable." Blaise stated. "We've gotta focus on the plan. Luckily for us, on my way here, Sebastian called my phone and told me that Creepy Chloe's willing to dress up as Skye, so at least we can take solace in that a big portion of the plan's going smoothly, y'know?"

"And that plan is…?" Manfred asked with a hint of irritation in his voice, prompting the P.I.C. Chairman to lean forward while gesturing for his friends to do the same so they could talk in hushed whispers.

"I'm glad you asked, von Karma. Y'know, I'm quite proud of this one." Blaise smirked. "Y'see, we'll be working in two separate groups- me in one, and you, Gant, and Skye in the other. First, I'll make Creepy Chloe disappear. That way, not only will she be unable to ever be a thorn in my side ever again, but we'll be able to have Skye take the little freak's place without anyone being none the wiser. Y'see, that's why I convinced Sebastian to have his little friend dress up as Skye, y'know? That way, we're using a chick who's both controllable _and_ bitchy enough to end a relationship in a matter of minutes."

"Hey now, Lana may have grown a bit colder over the past two years, but she's not some ice witch who eats babies." Gant retorted. "What makes you so sure Lana would be able to end Sebby's friendship with Chloe so easily? After all, the boy's probably built up a resistance to abuse after living with you for 15 years, Blaisie."

"You saw how Lana destroyed the friendships she formed with the detectives who worked SL-9 with the exception of Sheriff Boyardee. Plus, the woman's got a resting bitch face that can't be rivaled, y'know?" Blaise responded with sinister glee.

"Not to mention, last year, she tried to stop me from setting up a Christmas tree in the Prosecutor's Office's lobby on the grounds that the festivities would be 'too distracting'. Bah! Christmas is anything but a distraction!" Manfred huffed.

"So if you're kidnapping the girl and Lana's posing as her, then what are me and Manny doing?" Gant asked as he fiddled with his hair.

"Probably something that I will resent and will cause me nothing but pain." Manfred interjected.

"Y'see, Gant, given how you're the most experienced among us- besides myself, of course- when it comes to leading people, you'll be my second-in-command. Your job will be to keep everyone on track and shift the plan as necessary in the event that something goes wrong."

"Oh! Can we have codenames?" Gant chirped with a clap of his hands.

"Sure, we'll come up with them later. But first, as for you, von Karma…" The P.I.C. Chairman stated as his gaze shifted over to the 'perfect' prosecutor.

"Here it comes…" Manfred sighed in exasperation.

"Y'know, von Karma, don't be so quick to go all gloom n' doom. Who knows, you may like the role I give you." Blaise smirked.  
"And what, pray tell, _is_ that roll?" Manfred asked, the irritability in his voice rising.

"Out of curiosity, how do you feel about watching kids?" Blaise snickered, knowing full-well what he was doing.

"I knew it!" Manfred roared.

* * *

Later that evening, at around 7:00 p.m., Chloe was walking through a neighborhood on her way to the bus stop. Under the darkness of night, the area was only illuminated by a few streetlights lining the road, and given how of the people in this particular neighborhood made it abundantly clear that they hated trick-or-treaters by the fact that nearly all of the houses were completely dark on the inside, she was the only one out and about.

For most people, this kind of situation would stir up feelings of anxiety, but not for Chloe. Sure, she felt feelings like fear, happiness, anger, and sadness like any other person, but she always found it easy to restrain herself, her feelings only coming forward when she wanted to show them or when she was thoroughly provoked, and this wasn't one of those situations. For one thing, the mascot had walked through this neighbor hundreds, if not thousands, of times in order to catch a bus going into the city, so she knew that it was perfectly safe. Sure, the residents could be a little… crabby, if the one old guy who would repeatedly pelt her with seeds and tell her to go back to Muppet Land was of any indication, but she was never actually harmed.

But even if there were any undesirables wishing to cause trouble, Chloe thoroughly believed that they wouldn't dare to mess with her while she was dressed as Lana Skye, the Chief Prosecutor and a friend of the late and great Mia Fey who the socially awkward adolescent saw as a role model- not only due to how beneath her costume, her true face and body was nearly identical to the late defense attorney's, with the exception of her jade-green eyes and her long golden-blonde hair that she wore in a ponytail, but because Mia Fey was so confident and comfortable in her own skin. After all, Chloe looked perfectly identical to Lana in every way, shape, and form- from her height and body shape to her outfit and her hair, and even the way she walked was a perfect match. Sure, it took a bit of doing for the mascot to perfectly match the Chief Prosecutor's bust size- something that made her feel like her chest was being crushed- but the trouble was worth it on account of how if someone didn't know any better, they could easily mistake her for the real deal.

But unfortunately for Chloe, Blaise knew better.

As the socially awkward mascot walked down the sidewalk, she didn't notice a black van slowly following her. As the socially awkward mascot walked down the sidewalk, she didn't notice the black van stopping. As the socially awkward mascot walked down the sidewalk, she didn't notice a tall, slender man wearing a white suit and a green Zurvan mask creep up behind her, barely managing to resist the urge to cackle as a sneer spread across his disguised face. As the socially awkward mascot walked down the sidewalk, she didn't notice the masked man take out a small pipe from his coat until she heard a rhythmic thumping noise of him brandishing his weapon.

"WHAT THE-" Chloe yelled out in Lana's voice, her artificially teal eyes filled with terror as she turned around to face her attacker, only to be immediately silenced as the pipe made contact with front-center of her skull with a slight crack, coating the blunt weapon with a hint of blood as her limp body landed on the ground with a thud.

Without saying a single word, Blaise quickly returned the pipe to his coat, hoisted Chloe's unconscious form over his right shoulder, placed her on some old newspaper that he lined the back of the van with, and, after making sure that the trunk was closed and secure, drove off into the night as quickly as he had arrived.

* * *

As soon as Blaise was certain that he was in the clear, using his left hand, he activated the communicator that he had in his left ear.

"Oogie Boogie to Triton. Sandy Claws is in the bag and en route to my lair. What's your status?"

"Good job, Boogie!" Gant chirped with a clap of his hands as he monitored the transceiver for the group's communicators from the back of his van which was parked in the backmost part of the Themis Academy parking lot while Lana, who was sitting next to him, sighed in exasperation with a roll of her eyes. "As for me and Pinocchio, we're currently parked outside of Disney Land."

"Good. Vampirina, what's the status on Dumbo? Is he flying around in circles?" Blaise wryly asked as both he and the Chief of Police snickered.

No reply.

"Vampirina, what's Dumbo doing?" The P.I.C. Chairman asked with a noticeably more irritated tone.

Once again, there was no reply.

"Vampirina!" Blaise roared at the top of his lungs!

"I heard you the first time, Debeste!" Manfred snapped from his end. "But like I said before, while I may have reluctantly lowered my standards by taking on the role of undercover chaperone, I refuse to be acknowledged by the same name as a little girl vampire character that was created for a children's show!"

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't throw a hissy fit and storm out of Melons right after we voted on going with a Disney theme for our code phrases, you could have had the chance to pick a name." Blaise retorted.

"Correction: you and Gant voted on the Disney theme, whereas I opted that we go with one involving the Rankin/Bass Christmas movies, with me as Santa, you as Heat Miser, Gant as Yukon, Sebastian as Bumble, and Lana as Dolly." Manfred objected.

"And just what makes you think that you'd be Santa? Y'see, you're just a regular prosecutor, whereas Gant and I have actual authority. Hell, even Pinocchio has more authority than you, and she's Triton's glorified puppet!"

"I am no one's puppet!" Lana snapped.

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that while assisting me with my plans under the codename 'Pinocchio', sweetie." Blaise snidely replied.

"Regardless of who would be Santa- who, by the way, should be me since both he and I are perfect beings who are fast, efficient, and dole out justice to all who are naughty-, I refuse to be acknowledged as… Vampirina." Manfred spat out in a tone of disdain. "Therefore, I demand that my codename be changed to something more befitting of me. Though I swear to Santa, Debeste, if you or Gant suggests another Disney vampire like Dracula Duck, Count Mickula, or Juliet van Heusen, I will march out of this school and return home on foot! And don't think for a moment that I won't! If I could spend every day for an entire year arguing with Gregory Edgeworth, then I can walk all the way back to my home!"

"Y'know, for someone who hates Disney vampires, you sure seem to know a good number of them." Blaise snickered.

"That's it! I'm leaving!" Manfred roared.

"Fine, fine. If you're gonna be like this, you can be Burgermeister. Happy?" Blaise groaned.

"Even though Burgermeister was an enemy of Santa, and by extension me, it'll do."

"Good. Now tell me what Dumbo's doing so we can set things in motion accordingly. Oh, and by the way, I know you aren't too keen on being a team player, but try to stick to the codenames and phrases. Y'see, I didn't go through all of the trouble of coming up with this plan and taking Sandy Claws to my lair just so it could all fall apart thanks to some random ass hearing something they shouldn't have." Blaise nonchalantly stated as Chloe started to regain consciousness, only to once again be knocked out by the P.I.C. Chairman using his left hand to give her another swift blow to the head with the pipe.

"If you insist…" Manfred groaned from his position in a relatively secluded corner of the gym where several jocks dressed as classic manly men, such as Rocky Balboa, Hulk, and Rambo costumes were making out with their girlfriends who were all dressed as slutty nurses, maids, Playboy bunnies, and the like, peeking out into the main area in search of his superior's braindead spawn- a task easier said than done on account of the place looking like a Halloween fever dream due to how it was decorated from top to bottom with black and orange streamers, paper ghosts and witches, and spider webs. And as if that wasn't bad enough, the space was being illuminated with novelty pumpkin lights that bathed the room in a nauseating orange and throughout the area, several life-sized replicas of famous monsters- Swamp Thing, the Wolf Man, Frankenstein's creature, etc.- were scattered around the room so that the students could take selfies with them.

Though despite all of the distractions, Manfred was able to locate Sebastian, who was leaning against the back wall and scanning the room in an attempt to locate his date while wearing his Gant costume that made him look less like the Chief of Police and more like Colonel Sanders, along with Klavier, who was looked completely humiliated in his homemade Roo from _Winnie the Pooh_ costume, and Daryan, who was wearing a shark costume and flashing a death glare at his friend, a direct contrast to the costume's big cartoony eyes and the large smiling mouth that had a hole in the center for the shark-themed adolescent's head.

"Found him. Dumbo's currently leaning against the back wall, and from the look of things, he seems to be searching for his date."

"In that case, I'll leave the rest to you and Triton, Burgermeister. Now unless some big emergency pops up or Dumbo does something to make himself look stupider than normal, don't talk to me unless I say otherwise. Y'see, I like to have total concentration when playing games where lives are on the line in my secret lair, if y'know what I mean… Oogie-Boogie out!" Blaise stated before muting his communicator.

"Ok, Pinocchio, you're up! You ready?" Gant jovially asked as he moved to the van's driver's seat and drove towards the school's entrance.

"The only thing I'm ready to do is jump out of this van, run out into the street, and play chicken with the largest oncoming vehicle I see." Lana wryly responded as she glowered at her blackmailer.

"Now Pinocchio, there's no need to be so negative. Just think of it as a necessary evil- like renewing your driver's license or going to the dentist."

"That's what you said when you forced me to go to Sebas…" Lana paused upon noticing the thousand-yard stare Gant was shooting her for almost forgoing the established codenames. "I mean 'Dumbo's' birthday party last week and I was painted out as the whore of the legal world!"

"Geeze, how many times do I have to apologize for that, Pinocchio?! Gant snapped as he scowled at the Chief Prosecutor through the rear-view mirror. "Like I said before, I can't control what Burgy says! You've dealt with him before. So you know as well as I do that whenever Burgy's angry, you can't guess what nonsense will come flying out of his mouth! He's like Kirby, only instead of being adorable, he resembles the corpse of President Polk!"

"I heard that!" Manfred angrily interjected over the transceiver.

"True," Lana acknowledged, "but that doesn't change the fact that this evening will consist of that little basket case torturing me with every idiotic thing that pops into that unfiltered mind of his, culminating in me breaking his heart and probably leaving the gym with him clinging onto my leg like some pathetic leech while wailing at the top of his lungs."

"Don't worry, Pinocchio. We've got you covered. If something like that happens, we'll simply have Burgy pry Dumbo off of you and have him deal with it. After all, Burgy's an expert at dealing with crying children since that's what they do the second they see his face." Gant joked.

"Once again, I can hear every word your saying." Manfred snarled over the transceiver.

"Ok, Pinocchio, we're here." Gant stated as he stopped in front of the school's front entrance. "Just remember, report anything noteworthy that happens to me ASAP. Also, the dance is being held in the gym. You shouldn't miss it on account of that's where kids will be running from screaming in terror upon seeing Manny."

"Will do, sir." Lana nodded before exiting the vehicle and entering the school.

"Am I a joke to you people!?" Manfred roared over the transceiver.

"A little bit, yes." Gant chuckled as he drove the van to the backmost part of the parking lot.

* * *

 _I swear, would it kill those slack-jawed buffoons to treat me with the respect I deserve?_ Manfred thought to himself as he watched Sebastian, who was still standing awkwardly against the wall, from his corner with a contemplative expression and crossed arms. _I toil day in and day out, dedicating myself to my craft so that I can be the best of the best, the embodiment of perfection, but all I hear from them and everyone else I encounter is how I'm cold, how I'm unfeeling, how I look decrepit, and/or how my outfit makes me look like Dracula! Like they're ones to talk? Debeste's outfit makes him resemble a villain from a_ _ **Mad Max**_ _film while Gant looks like the love child of Lex Luthor and Colonel Sanders! Yet the second those two walking fashion disasters need_ _ **me**_ _to cover for_ _ **them**_ _, they act like I have nothing better to do than to bail them out with my perfectly honed skills as a prosecutor. I swear, if I wasn't the embodiment of perfection and class that I am, or if I didn't need them as much as they need me, I'd be half-tempted to 'overlook' a piece of evidence and send Rip Van Weepy and that overgrown orange sea cucumber floating down the river. Bet they wouldn't be so quick to call me Dracula or Vampirina from behind bars. Then they'd finally realize that I'm no joke… Yes! And when they're begging for mercy, I'll be there, in all of my-_

However, the 'perfect' prosecutor was snapped out of his inner-monologue by a loud female shriek cutting through the air like a hot knife through butter.

"Stop that! Stop that this instant!" The voice yelled out.

 _No! It can't be… Not her! Not Now!_ Manfred thought to himself as he reeled back, his eyes widening to the size of saucers as Kharmen Gavin, who was dressed as Kanga from _Winnie the Pooh_ , charged over to the corner, pushing aside everyone who was misfortunate enough to be in her warpath with ease.

"You children should be ashamed of yourselves!" Kharmen scolded as she forcibly put an end to any attempts to get to first base by pulling the couples out of each other's embrace, effectively leaving them speechless. "This is supposed to be a nice, safe night where people can have fun, not some crazy rave where anything goes! Do you all think that this makes you look cool? Because it doesn't! It makes you look like hooligans! And don't get me started on those costumes…!" The enraged mother briefly paused to flash the adolescents a look of disgust before doing just that. "Do you girls have no shame?! How do you expect to attract a good man when you're dressed like the Whore of Babylon? See those two boys over there?" Kharmen asked, directing the horny adolescents' attention to her son, who covered his face with his palms in a pitiful attempt to hide his shame, and Daryan, whose eyes were awkwardly darting around the room. "The sweet, strapping, handsome one in the Roo costume- which, by the way, I made myself with love- is my baby, Klavier, and the rugged one in the shark costume that I also made is his friend, Daryan, whose mother is my bridge partner. Now, I've been walking around this dance trying to find dates for those special little guys since they couldn't find any themselves. Now, I was thinking to myself, 'Kharmen, how is it that your son and his best friend can't get dates despite them being handsome, kind, caring, polite, responsible young men who are model members of the community?' But after seeing _THIS_ …" The attack helicopter mom exclaimed, gesturing to the students in front of her. "I now understand why! It wasn't that Daryan and my little Klavy couldn't find dates, but rather, they didn't want to settle for little hussies like you, and I don't blame them! And as for you boys, I- hey, don't you walk away from me!" Kharmen shouted as the adolescents finally recovered and made a beeline dash for the exit in order to get the hell away from the obsessed mother.

Following the students' lead, Manfred tried to sneak away as well, only to be stopped by Kharmen putting a firm hand on his shoulder.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Kharmen huffed.

"I was feeling thirsty and decided to go to the refreshment table for a cup of punch. Is there any issue with that?" Manfred calmly asked as he gently shrugged free from her grip, mentally bracing himself for the possibility of being maced by this crazy lady a second time.

"No, it isn't an issue…" Kharmen hissed as she pushed her glasses up. "Unless, of course, it results in you trying to run away from your responsibilities as a chaperone! Why didn't you stop those children?! Here they are, going at it like rabbits, acting like this is Sodom and Gomora, and here _you_ are, standing around thinking about refreshments! For shame, sir, for shame! Meanwhile, my sweet, little coochie bear is being exposed to all these bad influences! Do you not care that your complete negligence and indifference could have a negative effect on my son's wellbeing?!"

"I-" Manfred tried in vain to voice, only for the attack helicopter mom to continue her tirade.

"What am I saying? Of course you don't care about my son! Why else would you and those other two judges during that speech contest last month choose that Debeste boy's speech over _my_ Klavier's when his was clearly the best!? I should know because _I_ helped him make the final tweaks to that speech in order to make it perfect, _and_ I had him read it to me, his father, and his brother- who, by the way, are the governor and the smartest, coolest, handsomest, sweetest lawyer in the whole-wide world, respectively- for over an hour! That's right, my Klavier's speech was approved by _the_ Koen and Kristoph Gavin of international fame! There's no one in the world- no, the galaxy- no, the UNIVERSE that's better than anyone in my family! After all, I chose Koen to be my husband, and my beautiful babies are perfect at everything they do because they're my babies and they get all of their wonderful qualities from MEEE!" Kharmen bellowed, pointing to herself as she flashed the 'perfect' prosecutor a wide-eyed, deranged stare- the kind of look that a psycho has in a horror movie before taking out a knife and killing everyone in the room.

As much as Manfred wanted to rebuke this crazed soccer mom's argument with the fact that only those of von Karma decent could achieve perfection on account of how they spent generations creating and refining the prosecutorial techniques and social etiquette customs that they've used for centuries while her family was more or less just a snow globe full of special little snowflakes, he decided to restrain himself. Sure, Manfred von Karma was no stranger to confrontation, but he knew better than to perpetuate a fight with a woman who was clearly insane and risk his wellbeing over not babysitting some hormonal children.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, ma'am, but I can't help it that I found that Debeste boy's speech to be… endearing, in a childlike purity sort of way." Manfred reluctantly stated with crossed arms as he struggled to find some way to complement that train wreck of a speech that to this day left a sour taste in his mouth.

But unfortunately for the veteran prosecutor, that answer wasn't good enough to calm the raging mother.

"Endearing…?" Kharmen growled, narrowing her gaze. "Endearing!? My Klavier's speech was also endearing- not to mention insightful, earnest, and inspiring! And if you don't believe me, then allow me to read my baby's speech to you!" The deranged soccer mom roared as she reached into her purse and took out her youngest son's speech, which she began to read.

* * *

Meanwhile, Klavier and Daryan couldn't help but watch in horror as the former's mother managed to embarrass them both more and more with each passing second.

"Let's go stag to the dance, you said…" Dayan growled as he glared daggers at his friend. "It won't be embarrassing, you said…"

"What other options did we have?" Klavier defensively retorted. "You know my mom. If we had dates, she would have somehow found out, decided that they weren't good enough, and then gone out all over town trying to find us 'good' girls- i.e., ugly, awkward girls who could give Creepy Chloe a run for her money. And even if we didn't want to go, my mom would find some way to force us since she's the president of the PTA and wants to 'see me shine'."

"Well, look what your plan got us: your mom going around telling people that we can't get dates, trying to be Ms. Matchmaker, and making me wear this freaking shark costume!"

"Aren't sharks your favorite animal?" Klavier asked, cocking his head to the side out of confusion.

"Yeah, but that doesn't mean that I want to dress up like one! Look at me, Gavin!" Daryan snapped, gesturing to his costume. "Hell, look at you! We're like something outta Disney Preschool! If we don't do something and fast, we'll be the laughing stocks of the whole school!"

"Relax, Daryan, if people start talking smack about us, we'll just simply remind them about how big a loser Dewuss is. After all, he's standing here with us. But unlike us, he can't fall back on my crazy mom as an excuse."

"Actually, I'm only here because I'm waiting for my date to arrive." Sebastian interjected with a smirk. "Oh, speaking of which, there she is! Hi, Chloe!" The naïve adolescent chirped, making his way to the front of the room upon seeing Lana enter the gym.

"Ok, _now_ we're in trouble." Klavier said with a tone of unease as his eyes started to widen.

"You think!?" Daryan snarled. "So how are we going to get ourselves out of this mess?"

"Way ahead of you, dude." The blond teen replied as he reached into his costume's shirt pocket, pulled out his cellphone, and selected a number from his contacts list. "Thank God my mom had the decency to make our costumes with fingered gloves."

After a few seconds of waiting, Kristoph's voice could be heard on the other line.

"Yes, Klavier? What do you need?" The defense attorney casually asked.

"Khris, I need you to do me a favor." Klavier requested in a desperate whisper.

"Before you ask, Klavier, no, I will not distract Mother for you."

"How did you-"

"Klavier, Mother told me that you have a dance tonight after she made me take an hour out of my workday yesterday to model the Roo costume she made for you since we have a similar body type and you were at school; and if the dances I've had to endure in which she was a chaperone were anything to go by, you're probably praying for the sweet release of death. Let me guess: is she ranting and raving about how the school's trying to 'poison' you since they don't have someone manning the punchbowl?"

"No, Bro, it's worse. I went stag, so Ma's trying to set me up with someone."

"Klavier, Klavier, Klavier…" Kristoph smugly tsked. "You poor, naïve soul…"

"Well, what else was I supposed to do? You know how aggressive Ma can be when it comes to trying to set us up with people."

"Tell me about it." Kristoph groaned. "Last year, Mother felt like taking my love life- or rather, my lack thereof- into her own hands by creating profiles for me on every dating site she could find on the grounds of 'casting a large net'- eHarmony, JDate, SilverSingles, Miss Travel, Farmers Only, the Ugly Bug Ball, and many, _many_ more. And even though I spent an entire day trying to rid the internet of 'MamaboyKhrisy93', I still didn't get them all. Why, just yesterday, I got email notifications from, and I kid you not, 'Meet-an-Inmate' and 'Sea Captain Date'. Yes, because clearly, I'm a man of the sea who likes to sail laps around Alcatraz!" The periwinkle-cladded attorney huffed as his brother tried to muffle his laughter. "Yes, Klavier, do laugh at my situation despite making the foolish move of deciding to go to your dance without a date."

"Once again, what would you have done in my situation, _Skipper_?" Klavier snidely retorted.

"Simple. Whenever Mother would force me to go to a dance, the week before the event, I would volunteer at a local soup kitchen, retirement home, or other such charity and would pay a sickeningly sweet philanthropic girl around my age to meet Mother. Then, once Mother was thoroughly impressed by said girl, I would wait until the 11th hour and tell her that I found out that the girl just wasn't right for me, and while it was hard, we came to the mutual and peaceful agreement to end things off. Of course, Mother would tell me that she'd find someone else for me, but I would reply with how it was much too soon for me and that I'd rather spend the evening in the company of acquaintances."

"Well, I didn't think to do that, and now I'm stuck with Ma!" Klavier snapped. "So please, help me out, Bro! Call up Ma and ask her for advice or something- anything, really! Just buy me and Daryan enough time to find some girls on the rebound without Ma breathing down our necks!"

"Fine…" Kristoph sighed in exasperation. "Against my better judgement, I'll open up Pandora's Box and call Mother. But you owe one!"

"Thank you, Bro! Thank you!" Klavier exclaimed with joy.

* * *

"…That's why the law is everything to me- my past, my present, and my future." Kharmen stated, nearly moving herself to tears as she finished reading her youngest son's speech. "So, Prosecutor von Karma, do you finally understand why my Klavier should have won that contest, or do I- Oh! My phone's ringing!" The aggressive soccer mom exclaimed as she reached into her costume's pouch, pulled out her phone from the fanny pack within, and upon seeing Kristoph's number, immediately answered it.

"Yes, Khrissy…?" Kharmen chirped. "Kristoph, I swear on my life that I wasn't hiding anything from you with those online dating websites! Promise…! I just created profiles for you on all those different sites because I love you and want to see you happy. Is that so wrong…!? Now, Khrissy, don't say that. The right girl for you is out there. We're just not looking hard enough! That's why I've been searching around and found a few dozen more dating sites to try out…! Kristoph, please, just give the sites a chance- for me, Kristoph! For me, your mother who you lived inside of for nine months! Please! One of them is this nifty little site called Maple Match in which you can meet Canadian girls! That's right, Khrissy, we're casting your net out on an international level and will sweep the continent clean of good girls…! Now, Khrissy! Khrissy! Just here me out, Khrissy…!"

Seeing that the deranged helicopter mom was distracted, Manfred wasted no time in moving from his corner and into the crowded mess that was the dance floor. Sure, the 'perfect' prosecutor hated such congested spaces- especially when they were packed with hormonal pizza-faced children- but it was leagues better than staying in that corner with some crazy lady who was ranting to another child of hers about international dating.

Fortunately, thanks to his assertive personality and his cane, Manfred was able to navigate the dance floor with relative ease. Granted, the 'perfect' prosecutor had to deal with a number of elbows bumping into him from nearly all sides, but other than that, there were no real problems. However, Manfred soon learned that not everyone was a lucky upon hearing a scream for help.

"Help me, Mr. von Karma! I'm scared!" Sebastian yelled out as he struggled to move to through the crowd, desperately trying to move forward, only to be jostled around- and even backwards on a few occasions - by the sheer multitude of people while Lana just stood at the gym's entrance, not wanting to step into that chaotic mess for obvious reasons.

So purely out of a sense of obligation, Manfred made his way over to Sebastian, and without saying a single word, guided him over to Lana.

"Thanks, Mr. von Karma!" Sebastian chirped. "You're the second-best!"

"Don't mention it. Really, don't." Manfred curtly responded before moving off to the side of the room. "Pinocchio and Dumbo have met up." The 'perfect' prosecutor whispered into his communicator.

"Good to hear!" Gant jovially responded. "Though I have to say, Burgy, that took a little longer than I thought. Did something happen?"

"Besides Dumbo somehow being more pathetic and useless in a crowd than normal and me getting cornered by that crazy woman who started a fight at that speech contest that we were forced to judge last month?" Manfred snidely retorted.

"Ok, No need to get snippy, Burgy. I was just asking." Gant calmly stated. "Just keep an eye on things and respond accordingly, ok?"

"As if I have much of a choice…" Manfred grumbled under his breath as he found a relatively quiet spot- albeit a bit narrow- off to the side of the area behind the bleachers and watched Sebastian interact with Lana.

"Hey, Chloe. Sorry I took a while getting to you. I had a bit of trouble getting through the crowd- not because I couldn't get through, but because it would be a crime if I didn't show the other students the best dance moves." Sebastian smirked with outstretched arms.

"Really? Because from what I saw, that looked less like dancing and more like you screaming, crying, and on the verge of wetting yourself. But then again, for a sniveling little wuss like you, that's the equivalent of the moonwalk." Lana wryly retorted.

"Good one, Chloe!" Sebastian chirped, completely unfazed by the comment as he gave his 'friend' a pat on the arm. "If I didn't know that you were the best at taking your roles seriously from third-period Theatre, I would've thought that you were trying to insult me."

"I _am_ trying to insult you, you little idiot!" Lana snapped. "Who wouldn't? You're unbearably arrogant and egotistical despite the fact that you can't do anything for yourself, you cry at the drop of a hat, and you're so oblivious to the world and those around you that it's outright infuriating. Not to mention, your hair looks like it was cut with a bowl! Hell, you should feel thankful that people insult you. Otherwise, no one would want to talk to you since any conversations with you is pure torture since they all consist of you going on and on and on about how great you think you are. You're like you're father, but without his influence, psychopathy, trashy wardrobe, and friends who blackmail me into going on a fake date with you because of something that happened two years ago that was entirely out of anyone's control instead of allowing me to spend Halloween with my sister!"

"C-Chloe, I… I don't know what to say…" Sebastian muttered, a look of shock forming on his face as his ahoge morphed into an exclamation point."

"Is that so?" Lana smirked. _Mission accomplished. Now all that's left is to watch the waterworks and-_

"Yeah, that was… Debeste!" Sebastian exclaimed.

"What?!" Lana shouted, her eyes widening out of shock.

"Yeah, you sounded _exactly_ as cold and mean as Ms. Skye! Though as Debeste student in Theatre, allow me to give you some advice as to how make your Ms. Skye performance even better."

"You, the kid who can't even tie his shoes, think you can give _me_ advice?" Lana scoffed as she gestured to the Velcro straps securing the naïve adolescent's shoes to his feet.

"I may not be able to tie my shoes, but that's because, like Eyestein, I've got better uses for my intellect, such as helping my friends go from the best to Debeste in whatever they do." Sebastian smirked as he raised his baton. "I mean, you've seen second-hand in Theatre how my performances are so good that Profession Michone always begs for me to stop while crying tears of joy and tells me how every time I act, a little bit of his soul dies. Now where was I…?" Sebastian paused, forming a frame with his hands and moving it back and forth in front of his face. "Oh, right! Your performance…! Now, while you've mastered Ms. Skye's overall unpleasantness, if you really want to capture her character, you need to make your costume a lot heavier."

"What's that supposed to mean…?" Lana growled, her gaze narrowing at the clueless adolescent who was completely oblivious to how dangerously close he was to breathing his last breath.

"That you're not even half as fat as Ms. Skye is, of course!"

"WHAT!? I-er, Lana Skye is not fat, you little twit! She's a svelte, beautiful woman who could easily model for Victoria's Secret if she wanted to!" Lana roared with clenched fists, her face becoming visibly redder.

"Yeah, Victoria's really big, really fat secret!" Sebastian jokingly retorted with outstretched arms. "Don't get me wrong, Ms. Skye looks skinny in her face and upper body, but below the waist, she's huge! It was especially bad at last year's Fourth of July picnic! It's like she was smuggling a ham in her thighs and bowling balls in her butt! And you should've seen how tight her pants were! They were so tight that it looked like they were about to explode! In fact, the front button came flying off of her pants and hit some big muscular prosecutor in the eye during the three-leg race!"

"From what I've heard, the reason Ms. Skye suffered from that… wardrobe malfunction, wasn't because of her waist size, but rather because her little sister accidentally shrunk her only pair of casual shorts by washing them in warm water instead of cold." Lana argued, trying her best to maintain her cool and not throttle the little idiot.

"Yeah, that's what Ms. Skye said, but I've got lots of other evidence to support how she's really turned into a squash over the past two years."

"Like what…?" Lana seethed through clenched teeth.

"Like when Mr. Gant comes over to my house to play games like pool, poker, and ping-pong with my pops and Mr. von Karma, they talk for extended periods of time about how fat Ms. Skye is. Sure, I may be locked in a closest the whole time, but I can clearly hear everything they say; like this one time when my pops said that Ms. Skye is so fat that he had to have all the doorframes in the Prosecutor's Office greased with butter so that her thick ass wouldn't get stuck and that he's glad that she doesn't wear denim pants, because if she did, she would light more fires with her thighs than his lighter ever could. And then Mr. Gant said that one of the advantages to working with Ms. Skye for so many years is that he can bring her along on swimming trips so orcas won't attack him since they'll think he's friends with one and then, from the little gap in the door, I saw him make himself look as bloated as possible and walked around the room saying 'Do-pa, do-pa, do, I'm Lana Skye, and I'm here to eat you!' And then-"

"That's it! I'm leaving!" Lana snarled before turning around and making her way to the door.

"But, Chloe…!" Sebastian whimpered, bending his baton as tears started to form in his eyes.

"Triton, it appears that Pinocchio has accomplished her task and is currently heading to the exit." Manfred stated.

"Good to hear!" Gant chirped. "As soon as Pinocchio leaves, you can-"

"Wait, something's happening! It appears that Dumbo is trying to make a comeback!" Manfred responded with a hint of apprehension in his voice as Sebastian ran up to Lana and grabbed her arm, effectively stopping her in her tracks.

"Wait, Chloe! Don't go!" Sebastian begged in a pathetically whinny tone.

"Why? Do you still have comments to make about my appearance?" Lana hissed.

"I know that you can get really, really into your roles, Chloe, but I'm not trying to be mean! Really! I'm just trying to give you constrictive criticism!" Sebastian pleaded as tears streamed down his face. "I would never intentionally insult anyone to their face because I'm a Gentile man. That's also why I drink iced tea whenever I get the chance and like to solve puzzles. So please, Chloe! Please forgive me!"

"Well, too little, too late!" Lana snapped as she yanked her arm out of the clueless teen's grasp.

 _This isn't good! If Chloe leaves this date unsatisfied, I'll be letting Pops down! I need to do something to win her back, and I need to do it fast! Think, Sebastian, think! What would Pops do…? Of course!_ "Wait, Chloe! If you were a chicken, you'd be impressionable!" Sebastian called out.

"What?" Lana asked as she turned around and flashed the naïve adolescent a look of bewilderment.

 _It's working! Chloe's being transduced by my words! Ok, Sebastian, just keep using your magic and everything will work out for Debeste._ "Are you looking for a stud? Because I put the 'stu' in 'stud'."

"Just like how you put the 'stu' in 'stupid'." Lana snidely retorted.

"Did you fart? Because you just blew me away with your tumultuous childbearing hips." Sebastian smirked with his arms outstretched, causing both Lana and Manfred to noticeably cringe. "Ok, now it's time for me to really win you over. Just stay there, Chloe. I'll be right back."

Contrary to Sebastian's swift movement and jovial expression as he made his way over to the refreshments table, Lana's face bore a pained expression as she found herself unable to move from the spot. As a successful, attractive woman, the Chief Prosecutor was no stranger to hearing corny pickup lines from guys who didn't have a shot with her, but that last line that Sebastian said… it was so horrible on so many levels that she couldn't even begin about what exactly was wrong. How could a human being even come up with such an awful pickup line, let alone think that it was a good idea, was something that Lana couldn't wrap her head around.

So there Lana stood, motionless as a statue and with the face of someone who witnessed a horrible accident, as she tried to recover from the horror that she was forced to hear.

* * *

"Ugh… That-That pickup line… I-I think I'm going to be sick…" Gant groaned as he held his stomach.

"Triton, what the hell's happening there!?" Blaise roared. "Y'see, I take off my communicator so I can chain Sandy Claws up in my lair in peace, when all of a sudden, I got that horrible feeling in my stomach that I get whenever Dumbo does something outrageously dumb- like the time he put a gallon of ice cream in my hog's engine to make it 'cooler' or when he went to school on his 12th birthday in his birthday suit!"

"Oogie, it was horrible. Dumbo… Dumbo said the worst pickup line I ever had the misfortune of hearing. He said… He said… He said…"

"Spit it out, Triton!" Blaise snapped. "What did the little moron say?"

"I can't, Oogie!" Gant bemoaned with a pained expression on his face. "I can't bring myself to say it again! It's _that_ bad!"

"Say it!" Blaise snarled.

"Alright…" The Police Chief sighed in exasperation. "Dumbo said… 'Did you fart? Because you just blew me away with your tumultuous childbearing hips.'"

No response.

"Oogie…?" Gant asked with a concerned tone.

"If you'll excuse me, Triton, I have some torturing to do." Blaise stated nonchalantly.

* * *

"F*$%#&* idiot…" The P.I.C. Chairman sighed in exasperation as he removed his communicator from his ear and placed it on a table in his dimly lit basement. "Leave it to my moron son to reach new levels of stupidity. Y'know, that's about the one thing Sebastian's good at, along with ruining my life. Now where is it? Y'see, I know it's here somewhere…" Blaise muttered as he scanned the worn, bloodstained table at the back of the room that was cluttered with various instruments of torture for a specific tool. "Ah-ha! Here we go!" The corrupt public official exclaimed with sadistic glee as he picked up a potato peeler that was caked in a brownish-crimson crust at the metal end.

"Though y'know, I don't think I need to tell you about that useless moron. After all, _you_ wanted to date him. Isn't that right… Chloe?" Blaise sneered as he slowly turned around to face Chloe who laid on blood-splattered concrete floor of the cold basement beneath the only substantial source of light in the room, the kind of lamp that the police used in interrogations that shined a bright, hot beam down on the interrogee in order to break them, her legs bound together thanks to a rough, itchy rope that was tied in a knot so tight that it was painful around her ankles while two taut chains that were attached to two separate radiators restrained her arms.

"Don't you talk that way about Sebastian, you bastard!" Chloe yelled out in Lana's voice, thrashing her body as hard as she could in an attempt to free herself. "When I get out of here, I'll make sure that you're brought to justice!"

"Oh, scary, scary!" Blaise cackled, a sadistic, toothy grin spread across his face as he slowly sauntered over to the mascot with the potato peeler in hand. "Y'know, your Skye impression's spot-on. But just like Skye, no matter how much you bitch, no matter how much you fight, no matter how much you talk about idealistic drivel like 'justice' and 'law', sooner or later, you'll break like the cheap condom that lead to Sebastian's conception."

"And sooner or later, the police will burst in here and haul you off to prison once people realize that I'm missing." Chloe deadpanned, prompting her captor to burst into a fit of laughter. "I don't get what's so funny about me being rescued and you spending the rest of your sad life in a prison cell."

"You honestly think that?" Blaise sneered before tugging on his fake beard, causing his goggles to fill with tears. "H-How sad…" The P.I.C. Chairman emptied his goggles. "Though y'know, I shouldn't be all that surprised since only an idiot would want to date an idiot. Y'see, no one's coming for, Creepy Chloe- not the police, not the FBI, hell, not even you're parents, and you wanna know why? 'Cause y'see, when you get to where I am in life, you get to make up your own truths, and in this case, the truth is that you're as good as dead!" Blaise proclaimed, kneeling down on one knee and before bringing the bloodied end of the potato peeler close to the socially awkward mascot's face.

"No…! Get away!" Chloe shouted as she tried to back her head as far away as possible from her captor's instrument of torture.

"But don't worry, you little mascot freak, I'm not gonna kill you. Y'see, that would be too merciful…" Blaise shook his head. "No, since you clearly held a special place in my son's heart, and because you left me stuck in a vending machine, I'm gonna make your death slow and painful. Y'see, you'll be a toy that I'll play with, that I'll bend and twist and cut and break until there's nothing left." Blaise nonchalantly stated as he lifted the girl's chin with his right hand so that she was looking into his soulless brown eyes. "Though y'know what the best part about all this is? I don't know when that'll happen! Maybe it'll occur tomorrow, or perhaps next week, or maybe next month, or maybe even next year… hell, this may go on for a decade! The future's mine to decide, y'know? Y'see, it all depends on my mood, and right now, I'm feeling pretty upset!" The corrupt public official snarled, his gaze narrowing into a death glare that Chloe could swear was burning into her very soul. "Y'see, just a few minutes ago, Sebastian made a stupid comment- stupider than the normal dumb crap that flies out of his mouth, y'see- at the dance you were planning on going to, so for that, instead of waiting until this evening has been squared away, I'm going to start your lifetime of suffering right here and now, using my trusty little friend here…" Blaise gestured to the potato peeler. "To peel you open like a Christmas gift. Now, let's see what's hiding under that mask…"

"NOOO!" Chloe yelled at the top of her lungs. But unfortunately for the socially awkward adolescent, no one could her screams.

* * *

Meanwhile, just as Lana recovered from the shock of that horrible pickup line and was about to flee from the school and into the nearest highway she could find, she was stopped by Sebastian forcing a cup of fruit punch into her hands.

"Here. Drink." The naïve adolescent said with a mischievous grin that only served to raise several red flags in the Chief Prosecutor's eyes.

"What did you do to this punch? Did you put something in it?" Lana sternly asked before quickly realizing that this was Sebastian she was talking to, a guy who barely had the brains to formulate a coherent sentence, let alone discreetly taint her drink with any harmful substances in a public place- or even the privacy of his own home, for that matter- without asking for an adult's help.

"What are you talking about? What would I add to- Oh, right!" Sebastian exclaimed, his ahoge morphing into an exclamation point. "I almost forgot to spike your drink! After all, Pops always tells me that the way to a woman's heart is done by first spiking her drink and then getting into her pants."

"Are you craz-" Before Lana could finish her sentence, she was interrupted by Sebastian slapping her drink out of her hand, splashing sticky red punch all over her outfit before the glass hit the wooden floor with a crash before shattering into numerous little pieces.

"What was that for?!" Lana shouted, pulling several tissues out of her jacket pocket and blotting the stains on her attire in the hopes of remedying the situation in some way, shape, or form.

"I spiked your drink." Sebastian smirked with outstretched arms. "And now to get into your pants!"

"You are NOT getting into my pants!" Lana shouted as she glared daggers at the naïve adolescent,

"Well of course not! What do you take me for, an idiot?" Sebastian asked as he formed a frame with his hands which he proceeded to move back and forth in front of his face. "You're wearing a skirt, not pants. So what do I do in that case?"

"Simple. Stand there and watch me leave." Lana snidely responded before turning around and attempting to leave once more, only to be stopped dead in her tracks by Sebastian wrapping his arms around her waist from behind like a vice.

"No, I don't think that's it, Chloe. But don't worry, with our combined intellect, we'll come up with the answer in no time!" Sebastian chirped.

"Let go of me!" Lana demanded as she wriggled and thrashed about in vain.

"Not until we come up with the solution to this issue!" Sebastian exclaimed in his usual whinny tone.

"Triton, we have an issue. Dumbo's apparently trying to walk in his father's footsteps." Manfred hurriedly stated in a hushed whisper. "He just tried to give Pinocchio spiked punch."

"Really?" Gant asked in a mixed tone of confusion and shock. "Dumbo can't cut his own meat, but he can spike a drink?"

"Well, he can certainly spike a drink in the literal sense."

"What do you mean, Burgy?"

 _I swear, between that boy and you, there's barely half a neuron…_ "I mean that Dumbo handed the drink to Pinocchio and then proceeded to slap it out of her hand."

"Oh! Ok! That makes a lot more sense!" Gant jovially stated.

"And it gets even better…" Manfred snidely replied with a heavy sigh. "Now, Dumbo's trying to take a page from his father's book by 'getting into her pants', but since Pinocchio's wearing a skirt and not pants, he's restraining her by holding onto her waist as they 'brainstorm' solutions. So once again, it looks like it's up to me to-"

The 'perfect' prosecutor suddenly cut himself off upon seeing Lana ram her elbow straight back into Sebastian's stomach, causing him to release his grip on her and fall to the floor back-first as she ran out of the gym.

"Never mind. Pinocchio just freed herself by elbowing Dumbo in the gut and sending him to the ground and is now making a break for the parking lot."

"Well, that's Pinocchio for you!" Gant chuckled with a clap of his hands. "And what about Dumbo?"

"OW! My tummy! My tummy's in paaaaain! Waaaaaaah!" Sebastian wailed as he lied on the ground as several students formed a crowd around him and started and pointing at him.

"Nothing out of the ordinary." Manfred stated matter-of-factly before creeping out from his hiding place and making his way towards the exit.

"In that case, make your way out to the van. I'll be waiting for you right outside of Disney Land."

"You don't have to tell me- Damn it!" Manfred yelled.

"What? Did something else happen?"

"Yes. Students…" The 'perfect' prosecutor snarled as he saw Klavier and Daryan on either side of Lana, each having an arm wrapped around one of her shoulders while making sure that their hands didn't touch each other's, as they led her back to the gym while trying their own attempts at flirting.

"How a guy like Depeste managed to score a date with a babe like you is beyond me, Chloe. Though I have to ask, why do you do the world an injustice by hiding such beauty behind that mascot costume?" Klavier suavely asked.

"For the same reason why you're dressed as a baby kangaroo." Lana wryly retorted as she tried to free her arms from the two adolescents, but to no avail. "Now can you please get your hand off of me?"

"Yeah, Gavin. Can't you see the girl wants to be with a _real_ man?" Daryan smirked. "So, what do you say, Chloe? How's about we find a nice, quiet place and I'll show you a feeding frenzy you won't soon forget?"

"I'd rather go swimming with an actual shark while wearing a bodysuit made of raw beef than date either of you. Now get your grubby little hands off of me!" Lana snarled as she continued to struggle in vain.

"Thanks a lot, Gavin!" Daryan snapped as he glowered at his friend.

"Me? _You're_ the one who turned her off with that feeding frenzy line." Klavier retorted. "As if any girl wants to have someone dressed like _that_ going down on them."

"Better a shark than a kangaroo."

"On the contrary…" Klavier smugly commented. "When we went out to the parking lot to score with the dumped chicks, they were hugging all over me for comfort and I was pretty much in the clear, but the second they saw you, all hope was lost when they burst out into laughter, threw a quarter at you, and told you to shake your tailfin, Baby Shark."

"Well at least _I_ can have peanuts without turning into that monster guy from _Goonies_." The shark-dressed adolescent snidely retorted.

"Well, Chloe-"

"Wants nothing to do with you." Manfred interjected, pulling the two adolescents off of Lana with ease the second they reentered the gym.

"Hey, not cool man!" Klavier snapped. "I was just about to score with this beautiful, charming lady!"

"Yeah, back off, _old_ man!" Daryan added as he glowered at the 'perfect' prosecutor, trying to look as intimidating as his costume would allow. "I was in the zone!"

"Bah! Don't flatter yourselves!" Manfred huffed with crossed arms as he squeezed his bicep. "From what I saw, neither of you ever had, or will have, a chance with that girl!" The veteran prosecutor proclaimed with a snap of his fingers.

At that exact moment, as if fate hadn't been cruel enough to either Manfred or Lana that evening, Kharmen, who was still on her cellphone, just so happened to be walking nearby and heard that her son, her perfect baby boy, was just denied something.

"Khrissy, as much as it pains me to do so, I have to go. Though before I do, please at least consider the international dating options we discussed with Maple Match, Cohdopian Connect, and that Zheng Fa mail-order bride service… Ok, bye-bye!" Kharmen chirped, ending the call and returning her phone to its place in her pouch's fanny pack before rushing up to the group with a death glare.

"Excuse me…" Kharmen stated as she aggressively poked Manfred's shoulder, prompting him to turn around to face her angry stare. "Did you just say that my Klavier, one of the handsomest, smartest, sweetest boys I know, who's only surpassed in any way by his macho stallion of a brother, doesn't have a chance with this lovely girl…?! Oh, speaking of which… Hi!" The deranged soccer mom chirped in a sickeningly sweet tone, her scowl instantly morphing into a warm smile as she shook Lana's hand. "I'm Kharmen Gavin, Klavier's mom. Are you a friend of my son? And more importantly, are you single and ready to mingle?"

 _It's official… God hates me._ The Chief Prosecutor morosely thought to herself with a pained expression on her face as the attack helicopter mom shook her limp hand.

"Ok, I'm out. You win, Gavin." Daryan raised his arms in the air as a sign of defeat as he turned around and made his way out of the area. "No girl's worth dealing with your mom."

"Bye, Daryan!" Kharmen jovially exclaimed as she enthusiastically waved at the shark-themed adolescent. "Say hi to your mom for me! Now, back to what we were talking about…" The deranged soccer mom redirected her attention to Lana. "Sweetie, what's your name?"

"I'm… Chloe." Lana reluctantly stated, motivated partially because posing as this Chloe girl was the only reason why she was enduring this living hell, but also to reduce the risk of being on the receiving end of this crazy woman's wrath like she did back in 2008- especially since this overbearing soccer mom was true to her word in that she did find the Chief Prosecutor and forced her to go on a date with that purple suit-wearing girly-boy who had more feminine hair and nails than her.

"Well, Chloe, it's a delight to meet you! So, Coochie Bear, how do you know this charming, beautiful girl?" Kharmen tittered as she gently put her hands on son's shoulder, prompting his face to redden like a ripened tomato. "Does she have the same classes as you? Is she a secret admirer? Do you eat lunch together? Because if you do, then I can pack some extra food for the two of you. Oh! And I'll make the sandwiches heart-shaped, as well as include some tangerines and chocolates! Take it from me, Klavy, girls _love_ chocolates and tangerines!"

"She's the mascot, Ma. I-I see her around." Klavier stated with a hint of hesitation. Sure, he didn't want to leave the dance without people knowing that he had a date, but he didn't want said date to be arranged by his mom. Plus, the aspiring prosecutor knew all too well that when it came to his mother and the idea of him dating, she was already planning what china and flowers to get for the wedding.

"Oooh! That must be interesting!" Kharmen beamed. "Now, Chloe, tell Prosecutor von Karma here that he's wrong and that you would be pleased- no, overjoyed- no, ELATED to date my son, marry him, and be the mother of his four beautiful children who would inherit all of their good traits from him, and by extension me."

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Gavin, but I'm not in the mood to date anyone. You see, things between me and my date tonight ended really badly and I would like nothing more than to just go home and take a break from romance for a while." Lana stated with the utmost civility as she slowly backed towards the exit as if she was dealing with a bear. Hopefully, if being argumentative made this mom from Hell angrier and even more determined to arrange a date, then being cordial would have the exact opposite effect and diffuse the situation.

But unfortunately for Lana, Kharmen Gavin didn't think like that- a lesson she learned the hard way when the deranged soccer mom firmly grabbed the Chief Prosecutor's arm, effectively stopping her in her tracks.

"Sweetie, the reason that date didn't go well was because it wasn't with _my_ beautiful baby boy." Kharmen boasted as she gestured over to her son who wanted nothing more than for the ceiling to cave in and put him out of his misery. "Why, if you just talk to him for five minutes and let him ravish you like the gentleman he is, you won't be able to date any other man. My baby can play the guitar and has a voice so sweet that he makes angles sound like a bag full of cats being slammed against a wall! He's like Eric Clapton, only handsomer and with better hair."

"That sounds… interesting, Mrs. Gavin. But-" Lana tried to state, only to be cutoff.

"Shhhhh…" Kharmen whispered, gently putting a finger to the Chief Prosecutor's lips. "Mama Kharmen's talking, sweetie. Now, my baby isn't just a pretty face and a melodious voice, but he's also really smart. Klavy, tell Chloe here what you got on your last Advanced Domestic Laws test."

"A 95…" Klavier sighed with a tortured look on his face.

"Did you hear that? A 95!" Kharmen smirked with crossed arms. "And what did the other kids get?"

"The class average was 80%." The blond adolescent sighed once again.

"An 80! My coochie bear is 15% smarter than all of the other children in his class put together! So you know that he's going to be doing some big things in the future. After all, he's _my_ son. But that's not all! If you have children with my Klavier, _this_ is what you could expect them to look like…" Kharmen boasted as she reached into her pouch and pulled out a picture of a plump, smiling baby with a small tuft of blond hair on top of his head that complemented his huge, glistening blue eyes who was laying on a purple blanket with the name 'Klavier' embroidered on it in gold silk. "So, is this the cutest baby you've ever seen, or is this the cutest baby you've ever seen?"

"I've seen cuter." Lana curtly responded, leaving the deranged soccer mom completely flabbergasted. "Now can you please let me go?"

"Your heard her. Get your hands off of that girl and let her leave this dance! Now!" Manfred demanded with a snap of his fingers.

"No, I will not let this girl leave until she agrees to date and love my beautiful baby boy forever and ever and ever!" Kharmen snarled. "And frankly, Mr. von Karma, I don't like your tone one bit. What give you the right to yell at me? Just because you're a prosecutor doesn't mean that you're better than me. Why, if you were to go up against my Khrissy in court, you would be defeated in a matter of seconds because he's _that_ smart, charming, and ruggedly handsome."

"Me…? Defeated…?" Manfred chuckled with a sneer. "You're delusional, woman! The day a mere defense attorney bests me is the day that Hell freezes-AAAAHHH!" The 'perfect' prosecutor screamed at the top of his lungs as Kharmen maced him right in the eyes with a bottle of the stuff that she pulled out of her pouch.

Manfred staggered back a few steps, pushing aside a few students who were still gathered around Sebastian as he cried out in pain and rubbed his eyes in a futile attempt to heal his wounds, only for his back to hit into several of the life-sized monsters, causing them, as well as himself, to land on the ground with a loud thud.

"Burgy! Burgy!" Gant exclaimed with noticeable concern in his voice. "What happened?! I heard a loud noise, are you alright?!"

"No! I-I was maced by a crazy soccer mom! I'm down, I can't see, I'm in excruciating pain, and I think some hellion who's dressed like Satan is looting me!" Manfred grunted through gritted teeth as Vincent Dissive, who was dressed as Gregory Edgeworth, nonchalantly bent down, reached into the 'perfect' prosecutor's right pants pocket, took out his wallet, and sauntered off.

"Don't worry, Burgy! I'm coming!" Gant proclaimed as he sped the van towards the front of the school.

"Serves you right!" Kharmen sneered as she returned the bottle of mace to her pouch. "That's what happens when you belittle one of _my_ sons. So, Chloe, how would you like Klavier to treat you to some-" The deranged soccer mom stopped midsentence, her eyes becoming saucer-sized as she realized that the girl had used the distraction created by Manfred being maced to escape from her grasp and flee from the gym. "That little skank!" Kharmen yelled, her eyes filled with a fiery rage that quickly died down as she took a deep breath and regained her composure. "Though maybe it was meant to be, Klavy. After all, if a girl dresses up as that harlot Lana Skye who had the audacity to think that she was better than your brother, then perhaps she doesn't deserve your love. But don't you worry, baby, there are plenty of fish in the sea, the night is still young, and your mama's the best fisherwoman there is!" Kharmen chirped as she grabbed her son's arm and dragged him towards a small group of girls by the refreshments table. "Girls, girls! Have you met my son, Klavier? He's handsome, smart, and has a firm, round bubble tushie! Go on, touch it! Touch it!"

 _Where's a bag of peanuts when you need one…_ Klavier groaned in his mind with a look of pure agony on his face.

* * *

Outside the school, the black van that Gant was driving came to a screeching halt, and for the next few seconds there was nothing- the van didn't move, the doors didn't open, and horn and blinkers were untouched. The only thing of note was that the engine was stopped.

Then suddenly, from the driver's side of the van, Gant, who was wearing a Steel Samurai mask and a black hoodie, thrusted open the door and jumped out of the vehicle.

"I'm coming, Burgy!" The Police Chief yelled out, his voice disguised thanks to a voice changer in his mask, as he made a beeline dash into the school.

As the masked public official ran through the halls to the gym, he passed by Lana, who was making her own mad sprint towards the exit.

"Pinocchio, take the keys and start up the van! And when I get back with Burgy, floor it and don't look back!" Gant ordered as he handed his blackmail victim the keys to the van.

"Will do, Triton." Lana calmly responded with a nod before the two went their separate ways.

* * *

Eventually, after running around the school for several minutes, Gant was able to find the gym, which he wasted no time rushing into.

"Burgy! Burgy, where are you!?" Gant shouted, earning quite a few shocked looks from the students, but the Police Chief didn't care. The only thing on the typically carefree man's mind was getting his childhood friend and fellow conspirator out of there.

"Sir, who are you and why are you terrorizing my son and his classmates?" Kharmen asked in a demanding tone, her hands placed firmly on her hips as she glared daggers at the disguised Police Chief.

"I'm just here to pick up- Burgy, there you are!" Gant shouted as he spotted a vampiric-esque figure lying on the floor, which he hoisted over his shoulder. "Sorry for the interruption, kids! Uh… Remember to brush your teeth, stay in school, and say no to drugs!" The jovial public official stated, trying his best to make things a bit more positive as he rushed out of the gym.

* * *

"Drive! Drive! Drive!" Gant shouted as opened the van, threw Manfred into the back, and jumped in himself, an order that Lana was more than happy to comply with as she sped out of the school's parking lot like a bat out of Hell.

* * *

For a few minutes after leaving the parking lot, the inside of the van was quiet as those within tried to process the eventful- and for Lana, traumatizing- ordeal that was that evening. But eventually, after taking some time to calm down, the Chief Prosecutor decided to break the silence.

"So, Gant, care to explain that little crack you made about me being an orca at your game night?" Lana sternly asked as she glowered at the Chief of Police through the rearview mirror. "Or would you prefer to start with your 'Do-pa, do-pa, do, I'm Lana Skye, and I'm here to eat you' bit?"

"Now Lana, it's not fair to blame a guy for the stuff he says at game night." Gant remarked as he fiddled with his hair. "That's a sacred time for guys to be guys, a moment for us to just kick back and have a little bit of fun, right Manny?"

Gant looked down at who he thought was Manfred in order to get some kind of confirmation, only to quickly discover that he had accidentally taken a life-sized Dracula replica.

"Oh, no! I accidentally picked up Dracula instead of Manny!" Gant exclaimed with noticeable distraught in his voice as a few beads of cold sweat dripped down his brow.

"What's the difference?" Lana wryly asked with a smug grin.

"If I picked up Dracula, then Manny…" Gant gulped with saucer-sized eyes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Manfred had managed to recover enough to get back up on his feet and leave the gym, but his vision was still compromised, causing him to stumble through the school's halls, bumping into various lockers and walls as he tried to make his way to the exit.

"Damn you, Gant…! Mistaking me for a vampire…!" Manfred snarled under his breath. "And damn that accursed woman and her overinflated ego! Did she up the strength of her mace in the past eight years? Because last I recall, my vision wasn't this messed up for this long! Regardless, once I can see perfectly once more, I'll be returning the favor to that bumbling Police Chief!"

* * *

"We have to turn back!" Gant proclaimed.

"No we're not! After the hell I experienced this evening, I'm not going back to that school! I don't care what you and/or your cohorts do to me and Ema! If you want to pick up von Karma, you can do it yourself!" Lana roared.

"But Lana, if we don't go back for Manny, he could try to get revenge on us by telling someone the plan!" Gant tried to plea.

"And if that happens, then we'll simply take von Karma down with us. But knowing von Karma, he'll do everything in his power to keep this entire night a secret since it involves him being maced by a crazed soccer mom and being mistaken for a life-sized Dracula statue." Lana nonchalantly reasoned.

"You're right, Lana. Once we return the van to Blaisie, I'll drive back to the school and pick up Manny… that is, if he isn't running down the freeway." Gant joked, prompting the Chief Prosecutor to chuckle as she drove the van off into the night.

* * *

Later that evening, after torturing Chloe for an extended period of time, taking a nice hot shower, and changing into his bright-red satin pajamas, Blaise was resting on his comfy leather couch, reading a book on midlevel torture methods to the soothing sounds of a recording he made of the mascot's screams of pain and agony about 30 minutes ago as he did unspeakable acts of horror to her involving an unwashed turkey baster full of vinegar, a piece of sandpaper, and a grapefruit. Sure, the P.I.C. Chairman enjoyed making people suffer and ruining lives, but y'see, sometimes a man needs to relax after a long night of kidnapping and torturing his useless son's friend and first date, and relax Blaise did… until Sebastian entered the house, his eyes red from crying.

"Hey, Pops…" Sebastian whimpered as he walked over to his father, who closed his book with a disdainful sigh before placing it on the nearby coffee table, turning off the mp3 player that was outputting his recording, and flashing his annoying son a look of disdain.

"So how was the dance, Sebastian?" Blaise asked as he played with his lighter. "Did you somehow make yourself look dumber than normal by doing that stupid monkey crank dance you've been doing since you were five?"

"Chloe hates me, Pops!" Sebastian wailed, tears streaming down his cheeks as he bent his baton.

"Of course she does, Sebastian." Blaise said in a mockingly nurturing tone. "Y'see, because you're as cocky as you are dumb- which is really saying something, y'know?- and you only bring pain, frustration, and embarrassment to everyone you come across."

"You're probably right like always, Pops…" Sebastian whimpered and sniffled. "I-I tried really, really hard to impress Chloe so… so that she would become my girlfriend, and-and you'd be finally be proud of me for once… But-But I blew it, Pops! I blew it!" The naïve adolescent wailed, his cheeks becoming noticeably red from distress. "I-I tried to flirt with her using Debeste pickup lines. I-I tried spiking her punch, a-and I even tried getting in her pants, but she wasn't wearing pants, Pops! She was wearing a skirt! But I tried anyways, but that only resulted in Chloe punching me in the tummy, which caused all of my classmates to form a circle around me and start laughing at me as I laid helpless on the grooo-ooo-ooound!"

"Let me ask you something, Sebastian. Y'see, this is just me taking a wild guess here, but when you said that you 'spiked' your date's drink, did you literally spike it by slapping it out of her hand?" Blaise asked with a small hint of reluctance out of dread of the answer he was all but certain that he was going to receive.

"Uh-huh…" Sebastian slowly nodded, his gaze cast down towards the ground. "How'd you know, Pops?"

"Call it intuition." Blaise groaned as he struggled to get his lighter to ignite. "Y'see, Sebastian, I've seen your stupidity in action for so long that I can pretty much guess what you'll do in a given situation. Your life's like a really bad episode of _Wacky Races_ , y'know?

"I'm gonna die alone!" Sebastian wailed.

"Good to see you're finally gaining a brain cell." Blaise sneered. "Now go up to bed. Y'see, the last thing I need is you being a bigger idiot than normal because you didn't get enough sleep."

"Yes, Pops…" Sebastian morosely answered as he slowly walked up the stairs.

"Don't be so down, Sebastian. Y'see, time heals all wounds. Why, by this time tomorrow, Chloe will probably have disappeared and will be just a bad memory, y'know…?" Blaise called out in a sinister tone as a toothy grin spread across his face.

"Yes, Pops…" The naïve adolescent repeated with a dejected sigh.

Though little did Sebastian know, as he was walking to his bedroom, Chloe was just two floors down in the locked soundproof basement, her body and spirit wounded as she cried and screamed out for help that would never come.

* * *

 **11 Years Later…**

 _Why Edgeworth-dono assigned me to this case is beyond me…_ Simon thought to himself with much discontent as he investigated the outside of Themis Academy for any clues that would help him build his case against Juniper Woods, the student body president who had supposedly murdered her professor. _I get_ _why he assigned me to that barmy Tenma Taro case. After all, there are no other prosecutor's in this city who can rival my knowledge and appreciation of the ancient, nuanced culture of Japan. But_ _ **this**_ _…? Between Athena standing up for her friend who just so happens to be the student body president and this supposed love triangle involving the latter, an artistic loudmouth who oozes masculinity, and a pretentious sod who makes Deworste look like Arai Hakuseki by comparison, I feel like I'm in one of those_ _ **High School Musical**_ _films that Cykes-sensei was a fan of! I swear, if someone starts bloody singing about how friendship triumphs in the end, I'm walking…! Though really, why am I even here? How will a case at some_ _ **Legally Blonde**_ _high school bring me any closer to bringing the Phantom out into the open? Hell, at this rate, the only thing it'll bring me closer to is-_

"Mr. Blackquill!" Fulbright yelled at the top of his lungs as he ran up to his superior with his trademark goofy grin, effectively derailing the dour prosecutor's train of thought.

Strangling Foolbright to death with his own tie! "What, Foolbright?" Simon asked in a low growl as he glowered at the detective and continued walking.

"Look what I found!" Fulbright exclaimed with glee as he held up a tape recorder.

"A tape recorder?" Simon questioned with an unimpressed look as he looked off to the side.

"Not just any tape recorder, Mr. Blackquill! A tape recorder… of justice!" Fulbright exclaimed with a raised fist.

"And why should I be concerned with this… 'tape recorder of justice', Foolbright? Do you plan on yelling your bothersome catchphrase into it and playing it on a nonstop loop on our way back to the prison?"

"Don't be silly, Mr. Blackquill? Why would I need a second tape recorder to say…" The cheerful detective pulled a smaller tape recorder out of his coat pocket and hit the 'play' button, prompting it to blast out 'In justice we trust!' in his voice before returning the device to his pocket. "No, this tape recorder is a pivotal tool in our tool belt of justice since it captured the exact moment the victim was murdered! Just listen to it yourself…"

"You're a goner!" A female voice yelled out as soon as Fulbright hit the play button.

"Pretty good, eh, Mr. Blackquill?" Fulbright smirked. "After you told me to stand perfectly still and stare at that cardboard box in that corner of the maintenance area, I found out that it wasn't a box, but a girl- a box girl!" The justice-loving detective exclaimed with a look of absolute shock on his face. "I then talked to her a bit and found out that she hid a bunch of tape recorder all around the school, with one of them being in the art room, the scene of the crime!"

"Is that so…?"

"Indeed it is, Mr. Blackquill! So being the agent of justice that I am, I ran up to that art room, and sure enough, I found that tape recorder and that message… of justice! And that's how I found the tape recorder!" Fulbright beamed.

"Congrats, Foolbright. Give yourself an- Ow! Bloody hell!" Simon yelled as he ran stomach-first into a hard rectangular stone surface.

"Trouble in paradise, Herr Weeaboo?" Klavier jokingly remarked as he approached the Twisted Samurai, who was rubbing his injure torso while looking up at the reasonably large statue of the school's mascot, Justitia.

"Not until you showed up, Prosecutor Dandy…" Simon wryly retorted. "And before I ran into this statue of the school's mascot. I know that schools love to plaster their mascot's face everywhere, but to make such a large statue of it? That's just ridiculous! Only a moron would want to look at a mascot."

"But Mr. Blackquill, I love mascots, and I'm no moron!" Fulbright yelled, raising up a fist in anger. "I love the enthusiasm and effort they put forward every day for the sole purpose of spreading joy to others! And even though people laugh at them, and mock them, and push them over and watch them flail about, they put their grievances aside and keeping on fighting the good fight!" The justice-loving detective wept, tears streaming out of his eyes like little fountain as he waves around a white hanky. "They're like detectives and prosecutors… unsung heroes who often go unappreciated by the public!"

"Case and point. Personally, mascots give me the creeps, what with those soulless eyes that stare into your soul and- Why are you looking at me like that, Prosecutor Dandy?" Simon asked as he cocked his head to the side out of confusion upon noticing that Klavier's smile had morphed into a frown and that the warm look he had in his eyes grew cold as gaze narrowed.

"Read the plaque at the base." Klavier curtly stated, prompting the Twisted Samurai to do just that.

"In honor of Chloe Ernst, Class of 2018, the best mascot in the history of Themis Legal Academy. May her memory be as bright and everlasting as Justitia's smile…" Simon read from the base of the statue. "Donated by Prosecutor Sebastian Debeste and Prosecutor Klavier Gavin." The Twisted Samurai looked up to see the sad look in Klavier's eyes as he looked up at the statue.

"Ja… Chloe… She was… She was our mascot. As you can probably guess, she wasn't the most normal of students. Ja, she suffered from social anxiety that was so crippling that she never revealed her face or even spoke, preferring to hide behind her mascot's mask. The only time she _would_ speak or look even remotely human was when our drama class would have a little play, at which point she would wear a mask and perfectly become her character…"

Klavier took a deep, thoughtful sigh. "Of course, like with anyone who was different in high school, Chloe was often a target of bullying… mostly from me. I know, I know, big shock- the rock star was one of those mean cool kids…" The prosecutor let out a sad, self-hating chuckle. "What can I say? I felt I had something to prove. So I 'proved' myself by calling her names like 'Creepy Chloe', started a rumor that she was a serial killer, and even tried to rip her mask off on a few occasions, causing her to fall to the floor crying… But in light of all I did to her, Chloe never stopped trying to liven up our football and basketball games, never stopped waving and dancing at pep rallies and never stopped being a friend. Ja, she was Debeste's friend… his only friend."

"Big shock there." Simon wryly retorted.

"Really, Herr Weeaboo?" Klavier sternly stated as he glowered at the convict prosecutor.

"Sorry." Simon curtly stated as he turned his gaze to the side.

"As you should be. Chloe may have not meant something to you, but she was everything to Herr Weinerlich before she… disappeared without a trace, never to be seen or heard from again. Whenever he struggled with a class, Chloe was there to tutor him; whenever he sat alone in the cafeteria, Chloe would sit with him; and whenever he was bullied, Chloe would be there to give him a hug and wipe away his tears…" Klavier tilted back his head to hide a tear forming in his eye. "And to think, on the night before she vanished off the face of the earth, when Herr Weinerlich and her had a falling out on their first date, I decided to be a douche and treat her like some kind of trophy to win by trying to pick her up on the rebound to preserve my own stupid pride. That's why after Herr Weinerlich and I became prosecutors, we felt it was only right to honor Chloe's memory, so that she can live on and serve as an inspiration that no matter how awkward you are, or how strange you appear to others, you can help to brighten the lives of others.

"How sad! Poor Chloooeee!" Fulbright wailed as his tears flowed full-force as he got down on his knees and hugged the pedestal. "Why must life be so cruel!? WHY!?"

"My apologies, Prosecutor Dandy. No, really… I-I know the pain of how it feels to lose a friend all too well." Simon said in a pained tone. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have an investigation to run."

"Ja, I want to check out some things as well." Klavier added.

The two prosecutors started slowly walking towards the main school building, both keeping their eyes on the statue until the angle needed to maintain their view became awkward. Though upon noticing that his bumbling ball and chain wasn't following him, Simon stopped in his tracks, turned around, and, sure enough, saw Fulbright continuing to weep and wail at the statue's base.

"Oi, Foolbright! Are you coming or am I going to have to put you and that statue in a little red wagon and pull you around the school?" Simon called out.

"Coming, Mr. Blackquill." Fulbright stated in a sullen tone as he got back up on his feet, flashing the statue the briefest of cold, emotionless stares before turning around and giving the Twisted Samurai his usual goofy grin before chasing after him and yelling out "In justice we trust!"

* * *

 **A/N:** Since I couldn't reply to this review via a P/M, I'll respond to it here.

 **DJJ680:** I'm always flattered to see readers taking an interest in my OCs!

To answer your first question, as stated and seen in this chapter, Chloe has a flair and a real talent for acting. As such, if Chloe's in a situation that requires her to step outside of her comfort zone, such as eating in a public setting or doing a presentation, she'll simply don one of her homemade masks, become someone else (in a sense), and do the activity like anyone else. However, if given the choice, Chloe prefers to wear her mascot costume, remain silent, and eat when she's in the privacy of her own home.

As for Chloe's condition, while a good number of students would bully her, such as Klavier and Daryan (though I don't really show it because this fanfic isn't about Chloe, Sebastian, or anyone who isn't Manfred, Blaise, and Gant), a good number of students left her alone out of a combination for her overall kind personality and respect for her skills as a mascot and actress.

And as for Chloe's strength and agility, she built those up from years of wearing bulky mascot costumes. It's essentially like training in the gravity chamber from "Dragon Ball Z".

As for your other review (which, by the way, I'm sorry that I didn't reply to it sooner), no amount of marijuana could convince Blaise to like Canada on account of how he'd be the kind to view it as a drug for pansies and bums, instead preferring straight-up cocaine, a "man's drug".


End file.
